


Murder and the Wicked Scar

by pen_and_umbra



Category: Gentleman Jack (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood, Body Modification, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, London, Murder Mystery, Police Procedural, Scarification, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-23 14:58:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 19,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21322075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pen_and_umbra/pseuds/pen_and_umbra
Summary: A gruesome murder is discovered in Soho. Detective Constable Ann Walker of the Metropolitan Police, Criminal Investigation Department, is on the case with her partner Sam Washington. As facts get uncovered, most circumstantial evidence seems to incriminate a Dr Anne Lister as the potential killer. But why is DC Walker so reluctant to pursue that lead?-----Modern AU, police procedural with romance. Or romance with a dash of procedural? Both, I guess. Slow burn with eventual smut (but of course). Some of the content is about fetishes but the sex ain't weird, I promise.The story is now complete.
Relationships: Anne Lister (1791-1840)/Ann Walker (1803-1854)
Comments: 172
Kudos: 352





	1. Tepid Tea in Mugs

Detective Constable Ann Walker of the Metropolitan Police, CID, regretted her choice of footwear. It was Saturday so her frivolous pink heels did match the time, but certainly not the place - a dim alley between shabby brick buildings in Soho. She could hear Shaftesbury Avenue roar a few blocks away and the air was heavy with the sour smell of kitchen waste.

Ann sighed and brushed a hand through her messy hair. It was midnight and she felt cold. The cardboard cup in her hand was offering little warmth and when she took a sip, the tea was tepid and acrid. 

”Bleh,” Ann said and dropped the cup into the nearest wheelie bin. ”Hey, Sam. Where’s the excitement?”

DC Samuel Washington waved towards the last wheelie bin. He was unusually pale. ”Behind there. It’s a bit iffy, this one, just so you know. SOCO should be here any minute.”

When Ann saw the body, she bit her lower lip and turned away for a moment. She breathed in through her nose and then out through her mouth, focusing on the uniformed officers at the mouth of the alley who were putting up crime scene tape. Turning back, Ann was now ready. 

A woman on her back on the wet ground. Dark hair, pale limbs, one shoe off. Not young, not old. Smart blouse and skirt, cheap shoes, knickers pulled to her ankles. Throat slashed high, ear to ear. No stockings. Her chest had deep gouges through blouse and skin, from clavicle to the waistband of her skirt. No bra visible.

Ann stared at the cuts on her chest and throat. Someone with a strong hand and a very, very sharp knife. In the blue-orange light of Soho, the blood in the grooves was a dark maroon. Not a lot of run-off, which Ann hoped meant the cuts were done post-mortem. She breathed again, in and out. It was always the women who got to her, even after all her years in the force.

When the SOCO van arrived, it had started to drizzle - it was April in London, after all. The men and women in white overalls erected a portable tent over the body and went to work. 

”Eliza Rayne, forty-two. Not married, it seems. Lives in Harlow. Library card, Oyster card, the usuals. No cash,” Sam said as he flipped through her wallet, hands in white gloves. Her purse was in a large evidence bag under his arm. ”Let’s do the rest back at HQ, I’m dying for a cuppa.”

Ann glanced towards the SOCO tent. Inside, an arc light turned it into a shadow puppet theatre as the officers moved about their business. ”Yeah, let’s.”

* * *

In the CID room, a new case board had been erected for Eliza Rayne. The picture of her in the centre was a very unflattering one, harsh light washing out all her features. 

”Family, friends, lovers,” DCI Priestley said and tapped the picture. ”Look into them all. Ann and Sam, this is your case.”

Ann perched on the corner of her desk, eyes bleary. She’d not had much sleep plus it was an early Sunday morning. She blinked to force herself more awake; today was the most important day for enquiries.

”ETA for post-mortem, ma’am?”

DCI Priestley pursed her lips and glanced at Sam. ”Tomorrow evening earliest, I’m afraid. SOCO report draft should come sometime today.”

After the briefing, Ann and Sam set out to Harlow with two uniforms. It was a long drive and Ann couldn’t resist a nap; the car was warm and humid inside, the static-y muttering of the police radio hypnotic.

When they got to Harlow, it started to drizzle. Eliza Rayne had lived in council housing, a giant slab of mossy concrete from the 70s. The uniforms set out to canvass neighbours while Sam opened Eliza’s front door with the keys found in her purse at the scene. 

The flat was small, worn but clean. ”I’ll take the loo,” Sam said and waved Ann towards the living area. ”Let’s do the kitchen together last.”

Ann pulled on her rubber gloves and took a general enumeration of the room. Flower-patterned sofa, IKEA everything, no bookshelf or photos. Old flat-screen TV in front of the window, curtains with frayed edges. 

Ann sat on the sofa, found it to be lumpy, and dug out an iPad that had been stuck between the sofa cushion and the armrest. No code for entry. Email was spam and messages from Eliza’s brother and her therapist. The photos showed selfies with a small number of friends and mediocre plates of food in dim restaurants. Scrolling back, Ann noticed there were a few gaps in dates, many months between one picture and the next. 

”She was on some serious meds, Eliza was,” Sam said as he came out of the loo. He was looking at the tags of a half dozen medication packages. ”Mental health stuff.”

”We’ll ask her therapist, then. I’ve a list of her contacts from here, too - looks the same as from her phone but I’ll double-check at the HQ.”

Sam bagged the medications and they moved to the kitchen. One cup and spoon in the sink, fridge empty save for condiments, some cheese, and a take-out meal from M&S. Stuck on the fridge door with magnets were two pictures: two pairs of feet half-sunk in sand and seafoam, and a smiling, much younger Eliza next to a striking dark-haired woman in black. Ann looked at the latter picture closer. There was a sense of intimacy in the picture, in the positioning of Eliza’s hand on the woman’s thigh. Ann bagged the pictures. 

“I think Eliza might be gay,” Sam said, startling Ann out of her inspection.

“How so?”

Sam hefted two mugs he’d found in the cupboard. One said  _ I’m So Gay I Shit Rainbows _ and the other had two naked women embracing. “Also, no birth control of any sort in the loo.”

Ann turned away, feeling a bit discomfited. She was not out at work to anyone, which was very easy when she had no social life or partners. “Could be bi, too. Or just a very supportive ally,” she said nonchalantly and opened the top kitchen drawer. It was Eliza’s junk drawer, obviously - rubber bands tangled with pens, sticky notes, IKEA allen keys, and half-burnt candles. 

Ann bagged a few letters from the junk drawer and then the tablet, and they were off. The drizzle had graduated to a steady patter of rain by the time they got back to HQ. While they had been away, someone had been busy: the most prominent names from Eliza’s phone contacts had been processed and there was a wealth of files waiting on Ann’s laptop, plus a stack of photos on her desk. 

With a fresh cup of tea, Ann took her time to pin the pictures and names up on the case wall, scrolling through the bio file on each one of them in turn. Two men, three women. 

**William Rayne,** 45, brother. A sandy-haired man of no discernible chin or personality. Married with no children, a house in Chiswick, occupation sales manager.

**Solomon Morrison,** 59, employer. An enormous black beard covered half his face but not his genial, gentle expression. Unmarried, living in a flat above the coffee shop he owned and Eliza worked in.

**Isabella Norcliffe,** 47, friend? Her steel-coloured hair was cropped close in her photo and she smiled with all of her teeth, delightful and effervescent. Unmarried, location unknown, occupation unknown.

**Dr Beth Smith, ** 40, Eliza’s therapist. A very pretty, blonde woman with dimples and probably a bubbly laugh. Married with one child, living in Twickenham, occupation psychotherapist.

**Dr Anne Lister,** 41, friend? A superb face, prominent cheekbones and dark bedroom eyes, the set of her mouth arrogant. Unmarried, living in Fulham, occupation clinical pathologist. 

Ann pulled out the picture she had taken from Eliza’s fridge door. The woman with Eliza was definitely Dr Lister but about twenty years younger. Ann pinned the picture, still in its evidence bag, next to Anne Lister’s photo. Her eyes lingered on it all afternoon.


	2. Fleur-de-lis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That was quicker than I thought. Let’s go see this Anne Lister next. I’m intrigued.”

It was during his morning cuppa on Monday when Sam’s phone pinged with a new text. ”It’s Dr Martens. He wants to see us.”

The medical examiner’s office was a long walk but at least it didn’t rain any more. Dr Martens met them in the basement and led them to the autopsy room. Three out of eight steel slabs were occupied; he pulled back the sheet on the nearest one, revealing Eliza Rayne. The Y incision had added more chaos to the anarchy of cuts on her chest and abdomen. 

”Post-mortem mutilation,” Dr Martens said in his nasally cadence. ”Eighteen cuts, depth less than a centimetre, lengths between six and twenty centimetres. Very sharp knife, no hesitation. I will eat my shoe covers if this was not done with a scalpel. Same with the throat. That one was skilled.”

Ann was making notes on her pad, breathing through her mouth. She hated the smell of disinfectant. ”Skilled?”

”In films, throats are usually cut low and the cut is short,” Martens said and pointed at the body’s neck. ”That’s very inefficient. The perpetrator here did it right, cutting at the base of the jaw from ear to ear. Curiously enough, the cut is not the cause of death. Manual strangulation is my guess for now.”

”Really? Anything else unusual?” Sam asked, bending at the waist to look at the neck. 

Martens slid the sheet lower. ”This is what I wanted to show you in person. Body art.”

It was a fleur-de-lis, quite large, formed in smooth pink scar tissue on Eliza’s thigh. Ann had never seen anything like it before.

”Scarification is quite an unusual body modification. I don’t get them a lot, and never anything this precise before. If this was done by cutting, it was a very steady, skillful hand. Much like the post-mortem throat cut.” Martens paused and pursed his lips. ”Maybe the fleur-de-lis was not done by knife, though. I’ll look into it more.”

“Anything else?” Ann asked, pen scribbling furiously on her notepad.

“Photos are in your email already. Report will be ready probably Wednesday when I get tox back and have dissected the larynx.”

* * *

Back in CID, Ann sat into her chair with a sigh and leaned it back as far as the mechanism would allow. Sam sat at the desk facing her and started folding a sticky note.

”What’s next?” Ann asked. 

”You want the brother or the therapist?”

”The brother.” Ann checked her notes. ”Shelley said he returned our call and that he’d meet us at home today at two. Let’s see how long that takes.”

”All right. You take Masterson and I’ll have O’Neill. I’ll get our pool cars sorted,” Sam said and placed the little yellow crane he’d folded on Ann’s desk. 

”You’re such a sweetie.”

While Sam called downstairs, Ann swiveled her chair to look at the case board. Shelley, their junior DC, was pinning up the autopsy photos. Ann frowned at the picture of the fleur-de-lis and then her eyes wandered to Anne Lister’s headshot. There was hard contempt in the set of her mouth, an open challenge in the tilt of her head.  _ Clinical pathologist,  _ her background info had said. What did that mean? Surely someone with that title had access to scalpels.

Ann turned back to her laptop to google “scarification”. 

* * *

On the fourth knock, the red front door opened. Mr William Rayne of little chin regarded Ann coolly.

“DC Walker. And this is PC Masterson,” Ann said and showed her warrant card. She was grateful for Masterson’s large bulk next to her, like a mountain in a hi-viz jacket and cap; the unfriendliness radiating off Rayne was off-putting. “May we come in?”

Wordlessly, Rayne let them in and led them to the parlour. Half the walls were covered in plastic sheeting. “Renovations,” he muttered and settled into an armchair. Ann and the PC sat on the matching sofa. 

“My condolences for your sister. Has someone from Family Liaisons been in touch?”

Rayne looked towards the windows and waved his hand. “Yes. No need. My sister and I are… not close.”

Ann kept the frown off her face. There was a richness of history in those words but she sensed she was going to have a hard time digging all of it out. Ann took out her pencil and pad. “Can you tell me about your sister?”

Rayne puffed his cheeks and then blew out the air. “She is - was my little sister. She had a complicated life.” He paused and looked between Masterson and Ann. “She had issues. Mental health. A few hospitalisations. Her life was always a chaos.”

“Can you tell me about her friends? Any relationships?” Ann’s eyes flicked between Rayne and her pad. “Past or current.”

“She worked at a cafe near her place in Harlow. Friendly with the owner, I guess. Most of her other friends were, hm, past girlfriends.” Rayne’s sneer did not go unnoticed by Ann. “Not that I’d know much about her social life. We spoke maybe weekly, and even then it’s usually about mum and dad. They’re getting on in years, back in Yorkshire. Not much time left.”

“Any of her former partners particularly memorable, Mr Rayne? Anyone we should speak to?”

“That Norcliffe woman hangs around the cafe often, I think. Or so Eliza told me. And then there’s the one she couldn’t let go of. Anne something. Lister, I think. Eliza brought her home a couple of times, years and years ago. A total stunner but what a fucking bossy bitch.” Rayne blinked and seemed to remember that Ann was in the room. “Pardon me, Miss Walker.”

“DC Walker,” Ann said more levelly than she felt. “Mr Rayne, do you have any idea who would want your sister dead?”

Rayne thought, fingering the cleft on his non-chin. Ann took in the thinning elbows of his jumper and his wrinkled suit trousers. He was surprisingly shabby, given how handsome his house was.

“In Soho? A junkie maybe. Eliza was troubled but I can’t for the life of me think why someone would want her dead. Why was she in Soho?”

“I was going to ask you that, Mr Rayne.”

“Well, I’ve no idea. She didn’t usually venture to the centre on Saturdays. Or I don’t think she did.”

”And where were you this past Saturday between eight and midnight, Mr Rayne?”

Rayne’s eyes narrowed. ”Am I a suspect?”

”We ask this question from everyone, Mr Rayne. Please. Saturday.”

”My wife and I saw a concert at the Gielgud Theatre on Shaftesbury.” Rayne put his hand to his mouth. For the first time, Ann saw emotion in his eyes. ”Oh god. That means we were blocks away when… when Eliza was... Oh god.”

Ann made a note to speak to the wife separately. ”I’m so sorry, Mr Rayne. You were at the theatre all night? What about afterwards?”

”Took a taxi there, saw it, came straight back. My wife is… she’s pregnant so she gets tired very easily,” Rayne said, his voice growing quieter. ”I didn’t leave her side.”

“Congratulations, Mr Rayne.” Ann left her card on the coffee table and rose. “Again, my condolences for your loss. Please don’t hesitate to contact me if you think of anything else. Anything at all.”

Ann and Masterson saw themselves out. In the car, Masterson drove quietly for a few blocks before he said, “A bit of a pillock, isn’t he?”

“Mmm. Maybe,” Ann said and read her notes again. “That was quicker than I thought. Let’s go see this Anne Lister next. I’m intrigued.”

”Can we stop for a pasty, mam? I’m starving.”

”Sure. I’ll text Sam.”


	3. In Black and White

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lister stood up as well and took Ann’s card. Her dark red fingernail scraped along Ann’s finger, perhaps accidentally, perhaps on purpose.

The London Clinic was an enormous Edwardian pile of bricks above a handsome sandstone ground floor. The foyer smelled of cafeteria food and potpourri. 

“Pathology is on 4th floor. Dr Lister’s office is at the end of the hallway, love,” the reception nurse said, smiling. “You should find her there, or then next door in the main laboratory.”

On the fourth floor, PC Masterson knocked on the heavy oak door while Ann studied the brass plaque next to it.  _ Dr Lister, Director, Clinical Pathology, _ it said in engraved letters. There was no answer to the knocks, so they headed next door.

The double swing doors admitted them to the cavernous laboratory. It smelled strongly of disinfectant and the many vent hoods of the room hummed loudly. At least half a dozen lab-coated people were busy at workstations with pipettes or laptops. Ann and Masterson were two steps in when they were halted by a loud voice. 

”Stop right there!”

Ann turned. A tall, dark woman was storming towards them, her open lab coat billowing behind her. Ann blinked. This was definitely Dr Anne Lister of the photo.

”Out of my laboratory,” Dr Lister hissed at Masterson, her hand gesturing towards the doors. ”There is absolutely no eating here.”

Masterson backed a step, half-eaten pasty flaking in his hand. He looked at Ann, bewildered. 

”Uh, sorry,” Ann started. ”I’m DC Walke-”

”And your shoes. No. Out.”

Ann felt off-kilter. The woman, Dr Lister, was standing in her personal space and Ann was left staring at the open collar of her black button-up shirt. She had an exquisite neck and her perfume was brisk and fresh. Ann shivered.  _ Oh no,  _ her mind warned.

Lister hustled them out of the laboratory and into her office next door. Waving them into the visitor chairs in front of her large oak desk, she hung up her lab coat and sat down behind the desk.

”Let’s try this again.” She ran her hands through her hair, sighed, and looked at Ann. “I’m Dr Lister. You are the police. Why are you in my lab?”

Ann met the dark gaze unblinkingly, but it was hard. She felt flustered. “Uh, er, I’m DC Walker, this is PC Masterson.”

“May I see your warrant card, please?”

“Oh? Oh! Sure,” Ann said and dug it out. Lister stared at it for a moment and nodded.

“Well, Detective Constable Walker. Once more, why are you in my lab?”

Then Lister smiled at Ann and it turned Ann’s insides to hot jelly. That smile, so unexpected, was quite clearly the most charming thing Ann had seen all year. If ever.

“I, uh… We, uh,” Ann stammered. It had been years since she’d last stuttered, and she could feel Masterson’s puzzled gaze on her. “Do- do you know Eliza Rayne?”

“Yes, yes I do. Why?”

“How do you know her, if I may ask?”

Lister tilted her head, just a little bit. “She was my lover many years ago, now a friend. Again, why?”

“Dr Lister, I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, but Eliza Rayne was found dead this Saturday.”

Lister steepled her fingers and then pressed them on her mouth. Her eyes never left Ann’s. Her eyelids fluttered rapidly.

”Dead. How?”

”Under suspicious circumstances.”

“Do you mean murdered?”

Ann glanced at her notes. “Dr Lister, can you tell me when you last saw Eliza Rayne?”

Clearly distraught, Lister reached for her phone on the desk. A black smart watch and a thin steel bracelet on her wrist, Ann noted. Short manicured nails, oxblood red nail polish. No rings. Ann made a concentrated effort not to stare at Lister’s hands.

“Last Tuesday, according to my calendar,” Lister said as she scrolled through her phone. Unshed tears gleamed in her eyes. “We had a quick coffee. She wanted to talk about moving back to York, to be closer to her parents.”

Ann was scribbling notes. “And nothing since?”

“No. You must understand, we were together twenty years ago. By now, she was more an acquaintance than a friend.”

Ann looked up, pen poised on pad. “You sound regretful.”

“Perhaps. Eliza’s life was not easy. I’m sure you’re aware of her, hm, mental health?” 

“Uhm, yes. Are you aware she had a picture of you on her fridge?”

“She did, did she?” Lister sounded wistful. She glanced at the ceiling and ran her tongue along her lower lip. Ann felt something inside her coil tight. “She did always want us to get back together, I guess. But even after all these years… Hm. Interesting.”

“Do you know why she was in Soho this past Saturday evening?”

Lister leaned forward and looked at Ann again. “That’s where she was killed?”

"Please answer the question, Dr Lister.”

“I have no idea. Unless she was going to She Soho.”

Ann moved her eyes to her notes. “Was she in the habit of frequenting lesbian bars?”

“I don’t know. I wouldn’t think so. She was not the bar type.”

Ann met Lister’s eyes again. Lister was regarding her with a level, knowing gaze that did dangerous things to Ann’s equilibrium. “And, er, may I ask where you were Saturday, between eight and midnight?”

“At a dinner party in Mayfair. Twenty people, nine courses,” Lister said with another devastating smile. “The oysters were particularly delectable. Do you like oysters, DC Walker?”

Suddenly flustered, Ann flipped her pad closed and stood. Clearly surprised, Masterson also leapt up and put on his hat.

“Hm, uh. Thank you for your time, Dr Lister. Here’s my card, please contact me if you think of anything we should know. And be noted we will probably interview you again in the near future.”

Lister stood up as well and took Ann’s card. Her dark red fingernail scraped along Ann’s finger, perhaps accidentally, perhaps on purpose. Ann blinked and pulled her hand back. A smirk twisted the corner of Lister’s mouth. 

“Understood, DC Walker,” she said and Ann was almost sure she winked at her. “Next time, wear lab-appropriate shoes.”

Ann glanced down at her sensible black flats. “I, uh. Yes.”

“Mmm. Please see yourselves out.”

* * *

Ann closed her laptop with a determined smack and went into the kitchen. For her fifth cup of tea of the day, she chose a sensible rooibos. While it steeped, she went to the kitchen window and leaned her forehead against it. 

Anne Lister. Ann closed her eyes. She could think of nothing else, no-one else. That fierce gaze, those hands, her smile. Her open shirt, the long length of her neck.

Ann banged her forehead against the glass, once, and went to take her tea bag out of the mug. With the tea, she wandered back to her living room and called her cousin Catherine. 

“Hey Cath.”

“My favourite cousin! What’s cooking at the Met this week?”

Ann sighed. “You know, the usual. People keep dying in strange ways in London. How about you?”

“People keep buying strange clothes, too! I’ve run out of the purple felt hats but no summer coats are moving off the rack.” Catherine paused. ”How’s your social life?”

Ann sighed. That she was gay was more a theory than proven practice. After many unsatisfying Uni fumblings with boys, she had realised why exactly they were so unsatisfying. But she had done nothing to the matter since, besides having a string of crushes on straight women and reading lesbian erotica on the internet.

This time, however, she was in danger of developing a crush on a woman who was decidedly not straight. She couldn’t tell whether that made it better or more frightening. That Lister was also a person of interest in a murder case, well. That was just a big ball of no-no that Ann didn’t want to think about.

”Let’s not go there. How about yours?”

After Catherine’s tall tales about her new boyfriend and an agreement to have dinner on Wednesday, Ann hung up. She gulped her tea and opened her laptop again to google ‘clinical pathology’.


	4. With a Careful, Skilled Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ann sat back and looked at her sticky note. She was puzzled. It seemed Dr Lister had some very unusual hobbies.

“No autopsy report yet?”

Sam grunted a no. “And SOCO reports have been full of nothing. But we do have credit card statements and some of the CCTV for this morning. Oh, and Shelley came through with info on Isabella Norcliffe. She runs an art gallery. The updated profile should be in your email, too.”

Ann scrolled through her email briefly. “Yes, it’s here. How do you want to run it?”

“I take CCTV, you get the paperwork. And we’ll go interview Norcliffe together in the afternoon.”

“That’s a plan. How did it go with Eliza’s therapist yesterday?”

Sam flipped through his notes. “No breakthroughs. Eliza was voluntarily committed a couple of times for, well, a myriad of things. Dr Smith was very positive about the progress Eliza was making, it seemed her medication was finally working. Eliza was making plans for the future.”

“Moving back up to York?”

“Yes. Is that what her brother told you?”

“No, that was… Dr Lister,” Ann said and licked her lips. “Eliza had spoken with her about it. Her brother didn’t mention it, curiously.”

“How was Dr Lister? Masterson said she is, and I quote, fucking terrifying.” 

“She was, hm. Well.” Ann paused to search for words. “I get the feeling there’s something off about her. Something she’s hiding. She’s too… composed and cool.”

“Does a clinical pathologist have access to scalpels and the skill to do that?” Sam asked and pointed at the case board. In the picture, the dark cut on Eliza’s throat was grotesque and stark against her white skin.

“Scalpels, yes. Skills, who knows. Probably yes, she’s an MD.”

Sam stared at his computer screen. “Says here Dr Lister’s speciality is haematopathology.” 

Ann did a quick google. “The internet tells me it means she’s dissected numerous spleens and thyroids in her career.”

“So that’s a firm yes.”

Ann turned her chair to look at Dr Lister’s headshot on the case board. The imperious gaze of her dark eyes made Ann both curious and uncomfortable. “I’ll start with her credit card and bank statements, then.”

* * *

Isabella Norcliffe’s art gallery was on a fashionable street in Kensington. White walls offset the riotous contemporary art inside, mostly paintings with a few statues here and there. On that rainy Tuesday afternoon, there were no other patrons inside.

Isabella Norcliffe was a tall, handsome woman, lively and energetic. She wore a stark striped button-up and on her nose were thick-rimmed glasses that she kept adjusting constantly. After inspecting their warrant cards, she directed Ann and Sam to the back room.

“Can I get you some tea, officers?”

“No thank you,” Ann said and sat down. She felt damp in her overcoat. “Do you know why we are here, Ms Norcliffe?”

“Yes, yes. Fred called me yesterday. Terrible news! What a terrible thing. Poor Eliza. And please call me Isabella.”

“Fred?” Sam asked, next to Ann.

“Sorry. That’s what we call Anne. Anne Lister.” Isabella waved her hand vaguely. “Do you know who did this to Eliza?”

“Who do you think it could be, Ms Norcliffe?”

Isabella blinked. “I have no idea, DC Washington. Eliza was so kind! So difficult, yes, but she was also a nice person. She just worked, lived her life quietly. She was doing so much better now.”

Ann cleared her throat. “When did you last see Eliza?”

”Just last week! I went to the cafe where she works at. The food is terrible but it’s so good to see her in a place where she’s comfortable. And my calendar is otherwise so very busy.”

Ann looked around the empty gallery. ”Can you tell me about Eliza’s other friends, if you know? How did she get on with her brother?”

”Oh, her brother is a pillock. Always about money and status,” Isabella spat out. ”He was embarrassed of Eliza. The little worm.”

”And friends?”

”She didn’t have many. Some of the other girls at the cafe, me, Fred.” Isabella glanced at Ann and then Sam. ”We met through Fred, you see. Anne Lister. That was when Fred and I were an item but I do believe Eliza never stopped pining for old Freddy.”

Ann thought of the picture of Anne Lister on Eliza’s fridge. 

“No enemies?” Sam asked.

Isabella snorted a laugh. “Enemies? So theatrical. No, Eliza was a normal person. A frail person. Trying to make her life better, a day at a time. She was thinking of moving back to York, too.”

Ann made a note. Eliza had talked about York to multiple people but her brother had not mentioned it during his interview. Did he not know? If he didn’t, why not?

“Who else do you think we should talk to, Ms Norcliffe?”

Isabella exhaled, thinking. “Besides the obvious? Eliza’s therapist. One of the girls, Sarah, lives quite close by Eliza, maybe her.” She shrugged. “Are you sure this was not a random thing?”

Ann flipped her notepad closed. “There are… details that lead us to believe this was not an accident. I’m sorry I can’t say more.”

Ann left her card on Isabella’s desk and they left. The gallery had been bright and cheerful but outside, grey fog and drizzle dampened Ann’s mood. They were getting nowhere fast.

* * *

Back at her desk, Ann looked again at the lines she had highlighted in Anne Lister’s credit card statements. Besides the usual combination of local restaurants, Amazon, and Waitrose, there were a number of unknown company names. This was more than was normal, Ann thought. There were one or two odd purchases a month, some company names repeating and others not. 

The largest strange charge was thirteen months back, to Loditch Group Ltd. A quick google told Ann they were a company specialising in used medical equipment. Ann’s eyes narrowed. Why was Anne Lister buying medical equipment with her private credit card? Looking even further back, there were more medical equipment companies, web shops Ann had never heard of, and a refund from something called ‘Torture Garden’. Ann made a google-these list on a sticky note. 

Ann sat back and looked at her sticky note. She was puzzled. It seemed Dr Lister had some very unusual hobbies.

Torture Garden was an easy google. Ann clicked to the website and immediately felt flustered.  _ Good lord, _ she thought.  _ I was not expecting... this. _

She turned her laptop so that the screen was not visible from the rest of the room and sank lower in her chair. She scrolled through galleries of people in colourful fetishwear and then others being tied up in a variety of ways. There were naked, tattooed performers spitting fire and also scenes where household equipment such as candles and wooden spatulas were being used quite inventively. 

Clicking away from the gallery, Ann got to  _ Events _ . Next party was that coming Friday in a converted warehouse in Islington. Under  _ Performers, _ one entry caught her attention. 

Fred the Ripper.


	5. Various Shades of Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There’s something artificial about Dr Lister. No, not artificial,” Ann said and frowned. “Hidden. Simmering under the surface.”

Solomon Morrison, Eliza Rayne’s boss, was as genial a man as his photo had led Ann to believe. During their interview, he used numerous napkins to wipe his tears.

“She was such a sweetie,” Morrison said tremulously and twisted his fingers in his massive curly beard. “I don’t understand.”

"Do you have any idea why someone would want to kill her?”

“No!” he said, twitching out another napkin from the dispenser on the cafe table. “She was well liked. A bit flighty perhaps, missing a shift here and there, but I understand she’d had… well, a hard life.”

“Is there anyone we should talk to?”

Morrison blew his nose and it sounded like a foghorn. “Sarah. Sarah Erikson. She’s a student, also works here at the cafe. And also Eliza’s friend Isabella sometimes comes in for lunch.”

Ann made notes. “Thank you, Mr Morrison. I’ll leave my card with you.”

Ann and Sam left Morrison at the empty cafe and set off back to New Scotland Yard. As they walked to the tube, Ann flipped through her notes. “This Sarah is not in Eliza’s call records for some reason. Or texts. Maybe they just Whatsapped or something because Sarah sounds much younger.”

“I’ll get Shelley to find her details and arrange an interview,” Sam said and dug out his phone.

Ann’s phone rang. Unknown number. She tapped the green button. ”Walker.”

“Hello, Detective Constable Walker. This is Anne Lister.”

Ann swallowed. The low, velvet voice on the phone transported her right back to Lister’s office and how she’d tried very hard not to fall apart when Lister had smiled at her. 

“Oh, um, Dr Lister. Hello?”

“Two things came to my mind.”

“Yes?”

“Eliza had a friend, Sarah, from the cafe. They saw almost daily.”

“Sarah Erikson?”

“That’s her. And I neglected to tell you that one of the reasons Eliza was moving back to York was to help her parents with estate planning. They are quite wealthy, you see, but their affairs are a bit of a mess.”

Ann jammed her phone between her shoulder and ear and made a note in her pad. “Thank you, Dr Lister. This has been very helpful.”

“Mmm. My pleasure.”

Ann swallowed. “Goodbye,” she squeaked. The line disconnected.

Ann put her phone away and paused to consult her notes. Was that line about Eliza’s parents the truth? Or was Lister trying to deflect attention away from herself, to Eliza’s brother perhaps? Ann frowned and made a note to call Eliza’s parents in York. She studiously ignored the warm frisson Lister’s voice had sparked in her.

Sam was scrolling through his phone. “Oh hey, the final autopsy report is here.”

“Excellent,” Ann breathed. “Let’s go through it back at the office.”

* * *

Ann leaned back in her chair and blew into her hot tea. “First impressions?”

Sam pursed his lips, his hand still on his mouse. “A bit disappointing, to be frank.”

“I agree. Manual strangulation, but impossible to tell from the finger pattern whether it was a man or a woman - but that’s always a shot in the dark. More interesting is the doc’s thought that this, too, shows great skill.”

“Yes. The perpetrator knew exactly where to grasp and how to press. And thankfully no signs of sexual violence. More and more seems like this was coolly premeditated, planned.”

”That throat cut was just overkill, then.”

”The belt and suspenders approach. Someone wanted to make sure Eliza stayed dead.”

”And then the chest cuts. Those are pure rage.”

”Or an attempt at distraction. To make it seem like a crime of passion.”

Ann nodded in agreement. ”So, er, where are we now, you think?”

Sam leaned back with a sigh and laced his fingers behind his head. He gazed at the case board for a long time. Ann watched his eyes flicker back and forth. Five years her senior, Sam was the more experienced case officer and like her, a Northern transplant in London. Ann loved working with him. 

“We are absolutely nowhere,” Sam said. 

“I agree. We should talk to the brother again, and then this Sarah. And then Eliza’s parents - that’s what Dr Lister called me about earlier.”

Sam glanced at Ann. “What’s your take on Lister?”

Ann felt agitated. “Uh, er. Well, she’s got the means but no apparent opportunity or motive.”

“We should check on her alibi.” 

In her head, Ann played back their phone conversation earlier, from Lister’s words to the careful cadence of her RP and the way she had said ‘pleasure’. Had Lister been flirting? Or was it Ann’s imagination? Was Lister trying to unsettle her for a more sinister reason? Ann blinked away a sudden vision of Dr Lister’s long fingers, their oxblood nails sinking into Eliza’s throat. 

“There’s something artificial about Dr Lister. No, not artificial,” Ann said and frowned. “Hidden. Simmering under the surface.”

Sam stood up and went to the case board. “As for the brother, unknown motive, unknown means. We should take a closer look at his history, the bio was a bit too short for my liking.”

“I’m… I’m chasing a lead about Lister. From the credit card records. Maybe next week I’ll have something. We should re-interview her then. I haven’t got yet to the brother’s financials. They’re a mess.”

“Let me know if you need help with them.”

* * *

Dinner with Catherine was a welcome distraction for Ann. Pasta primavera and superficial conversation took her mind off Eliza Rayne until dessert time.

“Hey Cath, I have an unusual request for you. Police business.”

Catherine leaned forward, grinning. “Ooh, how exciting! Go.”

“You’re in the clothes business. I need a, uh, a,” Ann said and faltered. She took a large gulp from her wine glass. “A fetish outfit. I’m going undercover to a party. This Friday. And there’s quite a strict dress code.”

Catherine clapped her hand to her mouth. “You’re kidding me!”

“It’s for a murder investigation. I swear.”

“So you’re not going weird on me, Ann?”

“Just work. I can’t get anything through official channels this quickly.”

“The Met has a fetishwear department?” Catherine said dubiously.

“You’d be surprised the requests the Quartermaster gets.”

“I bet. Let me send a few messages. I know people who know people, at least.”

“Nothing too weird, Cath. Please.”

“No nipple clamps. Got you.”

“Cath!”

As Catherine typed on her phone, Ann drained her glass. This was highly irregular, she knew. She could get into hot water for following leads by herself with no backup. But she also didn’t want to chase this with Sam because… well, she didn’t know exactly why. 

Because of embarrassment, maybe. Uncertainty, definitely. 

Even after three years at the CID, Ann still felt unsure of herself at times, and Dr Lister was a complete enigma to her. If the lead turned out to be nothing, she didn’t want Sam there to witness her embarrassment.

So come Friday, she was going to the Torture Garden party alone.


	6. Shoe Leather and Rubber

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What are you doing, Ann?” she muttered to herself.

Thursday was frustrating for Ann. Her call to Eliza’s parents in York netted nothing: both of the elder Raynes were obviously suffering from some sort of degenerative memory disease. William Rayne was out of town and could not come for an interview until the following week, and Sarah Erikson had not returned their calls. At least Sam succeeded in interviewing Rayne’s wife.

On Friday morning, Ann was grumpy. Sam poked at her mouse hand from across their desks. “Hey, sourpuss. Do you want some action?”

”Please. Yes. I beg of you.”

”Let’s go check out William Rayne’s alibi.”

It was mid-morning by the time they got to Shaftesbury Avenue but by then, the rain had abated. Ann regarded the neo-classical facade of the Gielgud Theatre and then checked her phone map. It was only a few blocks from where Eliza Rayne’s body was found. Suspicious proximity, yes, but Soho on a Saturday evening was the most jam-packed area of London. It could be just a coincidence. 

Inside, Ann admired the Edwardian staircase. “Very lovely. What did the CCTV tell you?”

Sam checked his notes. “From the street cameras, it seems very clear-cut. Rayne and wife arrive thirty minutes before showtime. They don’t come out during the show and nothing otherwise suspicious occurs. Twelve minutes after the final curtain, Rayne and wife exit, hail a taxi, are gone.”

“Is there a back entrance?”

“I spoke with the theatre manager on the phone. There is an emergency exit but it’s accessible only through inner doors that sound an alarm or through the backstage corridors that are locked to the public. No CCTV there.” Sam pushed his notepad to his jacket pocket. “Let’s walk the possibilities.”

Raynes’ seats had been on the mezzanine. They timed their walk to the alarmed door and Ann touched its handle but did not open it. “Where’s the door to the backstage corridor?”

“The nearest is there, by the men’s loo,” Sam said and pointed on the other side of the foyer. “It’s locked, we’d need the theatre manager for it. He told me he checks the door multiple times a day, so it was definitely locked during the show.”

“Let’s walk from the back door to where Eliza was killed and time it.”

Outside, in the back alley, Ann checked the door. No alarms there, no handle on the outside - just a push bar on the inside, probably. The back alley was not as luxurious as the Gielgud, trash blew around and the wheelie bins of nearby restaurants smelled of fish.

Sam set the stopwatch on his phone and they walked briskly to Eliza’s murder scene. All traces of the police were gone now, just a stray rubber glove and what could be bloodstains on the asphalt remained. 

“Six minutes,” Sam said and put his phone away. “The intermission for the concert was twenty minutes.”

“So theoretically there’s plenty of time for Rayne to get here, meet Eliza, murder her, and then return in time.”

“Except his wife says he didn’t go anywhere. And CCTV says he didn’t go through the front door, and through the back he’d need either keys or he’d trigger the alarmed door.”

Ann pursed her lips and looked around. “There’s something about the man that rubs me the wrong way. Like Ms Norcliffe said, he seems like a bit of a pillock.”

"From pillock to murderer is a long way, Ann.”

Ann sighed, defeated. “I know. Let’s go back. Maybe the CCTV footage from the alley mouth has finally come in.”

* * *

No new CCTV footage had been delivered, so Ann left early. She came home to find a large shopping bag on her front door knob. Once inside her flat, she dug out a note from the bag.

_ I hope some of this fits. You owe me a drink and a full debrief next week. - C _

Ann peeked into the bag. The strong, sharp aroma of petrochemical industry products rose from the contents. Ann dumped the lot on her sofa.

There was a black skirt and a matching top where the bra cups were made of thin leather strands. That was an immediate no for Ann. Next, a red latex catsuit with a zipper that ran from thigh to the high collar, and a purple latex cocktail dress with a daring slit along one thigh. The rubber garments were faintly glossy and cold to the touch. A pile of tangled accessories completed the pile.

“Oh Catherine,” Ann said and clicked her tongue. “You know some freaky people.”

Ann straightened the latex garments; they made squelching rubber sounds and left an oily residue on her fingers. A quick google told her why there was also talcum powder and silicone spray in the bag. 

Ann stared at the silicone spray. On the label, there was a woman in a black catsuit and a ball gag in her mouth. 

_ Fuck. What the bloody hell am I doing.  _

* * *

Ann tried all of the clothes on. The purple cocktail dress fit her like a glove. Her best black heels, smokey eye makeup, and a black rubber clutch bag from the accessories pile completed the outfit.

Ann looked at herself in her full-length bedroom mirror. She thought she looked ridiculous. She went to the kitchen and made herself a stiff gintonic. Chugging it down in three gulps, she went back to the mirror.

Frowning, Ann adjusted her breasts in the dress. The rubber material warmed quickly and it was less restricting than she had thought. She was already sweating.

“What are you doing, Ann?” she muttered to herself. 

She didn’t know if she wanted to see Anne Lister at the party or not. To find out if she was Fred the Ripper or not. And what would she do if she did see Lister there? Why was she so obsessed with this case, with Lister, that she was doing this insane thing?

Shoving all of these questions to the back of her head, Ann shrugged on her pea coat and headed out. The tube took her to Angel station and as she emerged to the surface, she checked her phone. 

11 pm. Showtime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, hey, any suggestions on what I should write next? I’ve a few thoughts but nothing that has lit a fire under my ass. Well, keyboard. Weird prompts welcome! 😄


	7. In the Heart of Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ann bit her lower lip so hard she thought she was going to draw blood. She couldn’t blink or move or feel anything except the prickly warning of danger that sang on her nerves.

Ann got through the Torture Garden entrance, security check, and coat check in a trance. Inside, it smelled of warehouse, of rubber and dry ice. Ann’s heart was pounding to the beat of the industrial music that thrummed through the building. Banks of lights flickered to the music and burnished the glossy rubber and leather on the hundreds of revellers crowding the dance floor. To Ann, it looked like a level of Dante’s hell, grotesque and alien.

Clutching her bag to her chest, Ann found a spot by the far wall. The brick was cold against her back and she felt the rough texture clearly through her rubber dress. She felt out of place, breathless, off-kilter. 

When her eyes had adjusted to the light, Ann made a slow circuit. The cavernous warehouse had the central dance floor with a stage, with bars and lounge areas on the edges. On the far side of the open space, on impulse, Ann followed a sign that said  _ Dungeon _ to a separate, quieter wing. 

Once through the doorway, Ann blinked. It was indeed a dungeon, with people tied up to a variety of pillars, crosses, and other equipment. Others were man-handling them in ways that looked either skilfully decadent or bluntly painful. Ann did not look too closely. She fervently wished for a drink to appear in her hand.

At the far end of the dungeon, a flickering neon sign said  _ Fred the Ripper  _ in red and white. Below the sign, a large group of people had gathered, blocking Ann’s view. She pushed through the rubber-clad crowd and stopped in her tracks, stricken when she realised what she was seeing.

A blonde woman was lying face-down on a black bench, topless. A man was kneeling next to her and holding her by a dog collar, whispering into her ear. A third person sat by the bench and was drawing on the blonde woman’s back with an instrument that looked like a large pen attached to a control box via a thick black cable. 

A pen, except that its tip glowed white-hot and it was leaving a black burn along the woman’s skin wherever it touched. 

“Oh my fucking god,” Ann whispered under her breath and hugged her clutch purse. 

The sickly sweet barbecue smell of burning flesh hung in the air. Ann inhaled it and thick saliva gathered in her mouth; she thought she might throw up then and there. Swallowing down the feeling, Ann squinted at the person wielding the instrument. She wore a black rubber butcher’s apron with an industrial-grade respirator covering her face. The dark hair and the set of those bare shoulders under the apron seemed so familiar to Ann.

The blonde woman was twitching as the instrument moved along her skin, slow and steady. Faint wisps of smoke rose from the black lines on her lower back. The man’s hand was in her hair, making soothing motions. Ann didn’t know how long she was staring because time seemed to have stopped for her. 

When the ornamental flower pattern on the woman’s back was complete, the masked woman reached to switch off the machine. She slapped the prone woman on her buttocks, spread some sort of ointment on her back, and then took off her respirator. 

It was Dr Lister. 

Ann bit her lower lip so hard she thought she was going to draw blood. She couldn’t blink or move or feel anything except the prickly warning of danger that sang on her nerves.

Ann watched as Lister snapped off her rubber gloves and shook the man’s hand. When the couple left, Lister stood up and stretched her arms. And then she met Ann’s eyes. 

_ Oh shit. _

Ann stood transfixed as Lister pointed at her. “Dungeon bar, five minutes,” Lister mouthed and gestured towards the far end of the dungeon area.

* * *

Ann found the bar and took a barstool. She felt weak and clumsy from shock. She barely registered the ambient sounds, the distant throb of music and the animal noises the people in the dungeon apparatuses nearby made; her mind was preoccupied with what she had just seen.

“Well hello! Can I buy you a drink?”

Ann blinked, still in a daze. Next to her, a tall man in a pinstripe suit made of rubber was smiling at her with all of his teeth. 

“I, uh, what?”

“I asked if I could buy you a drink. You’re new here, aren’t you?”

Before Ann could say anything, Lister appeared at the bar. “Fuck off, Martin,” Lister said, not unkindly.

“Oh! Sorry, sorry. Sorry Fred.” He backed away waving his hands. “Didn’t realise this one’s yours.”

Not paying any attention to the man, Lister sat down on the barstool next to Ann, very close. She had taken the rubber apron off and was now wearing only glossy latex trousers and top, all in black. Her hair was gathered in a high ponytail and a faint sheen of perspiration glowed on her skin. Ann didn’t know how she was supposed to breathe with this woman so near her, in those clothes that left nothing to the imagination. 

“Electrosurgical branding,” Lister said to Ann and turned to the bartender. “Vodka and water, Sammy, if you please.”

“S-sorry?” Ann stammered.

“It’s called electrosurgical branding. It cuts and cauterises skin with electricity. A very precise tool.”

When the vodka shot arrived, Ann downed it in one. It burned in her nostrils and throat. 

“But why?”

“That’s the more complicated question,” Lister said and sipped her water. “It’s body modification, like tattoos. People get them for personal reasons.”

Ann stared at the long line of Lister’s neck, the naked curve of her shoulder. And then she caught herself, remembered who she was. “No, I mean why do you do it. It’s…”

“Perverted?”

“Uh. Unusual, maybe.”

“Mmm. I find it captivating. It’s art, above all. And the human body is so fascinating, a marvel in how it reacts to stimuli.” Lister paused and looked Ann up and down, a hint of a smile on her lips. “I have to get back for my next appointment. An old-fashioned. Would you like to watch?”

Ann shivered. Whether in disgust or fear or something else entirely, she did not now. “Perhaps not.”

“Then I recommend the next show on the big stage. Mariana is something to behold.”

“Everything here is something to behold.”

Lister finished her water and stood up. “I like your dress, Detective Constable Walker,” she whispered into Ann’s ear and ran her fingers along the slick rubber covering Ann’s thigh. Something hot and heavy settled inside Ann. Lister was so close Ann could smell her perfume and the faint acrid smell of smoke on her. “Still not lab-appropriate shoes, though.”

Lister walked away and Ann tried not to stare; she willed down the hot, uncomfortable feeling inside her. Ann tilted her shot glass but the vodka was all gone. So she pushed her way to the edge of Lister’s crowd and watched.

A man was sitting on the bench, hands clenched around his knees, eyes closed. Lister had on her respirator and a new pair of gloves, and she was calmly carving the letter S into the man’s upper back with a scalpel. She made a cut and then another one at a different angle, skilfully loosening a thin strip of skin at the bottom of the S. She dropped the skin sliver into the bright yellow medical waste container next to her. Blood flowed freely down the man’s back and Lister wiped it off before continuing with the next curve.

Ann fled. She felt feverish and nauseated until she got to the cold night air outside. Breathing rapidly, she hurried to the bright lights and safety of the tube station. 

While she waited on the platform, Ann’s phone pinged in her bag. She dug it out.

_ \--- 00:06 [unknown number] Meet me for brunch. I will explain properly. Balthazar @ 11 am _


	8. Vertebrate Physiology

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lister’s lips twitched. ”I’m good at many things. Please be more specific.”

Balthazar was busy when Ann arrived. Feeling overheated in her coat, Ann looked around. She found Lister at the back, sprawled in a chair with The Times. She was in full Saturday casual in black skinny jeans and white button-up and had already ordered tea for them.

Ann wiped her sweaty hands on her jeans and sat down. ”You look almost normal now.”

”Almost?” Lister said and folded her newspaper away.

”Well, in comparison.”

”Quite so. I took the liberty of ordering. You seemed the eggs Florentine type.”

Ann poured herself tea, flustered. ”So, um. Explain, please.”

”Straight to the point, DC Walker. I like that. Or can I call you Ann?”

”DC Walker, please. This is a murder enquiry.”

”Yes. Poor Eliza.” Lister paused and picked up her tea cup. Ann was mesmerised by Lister’s finger stroking its side, back and forth. ”And I guess after last night display of depravity, I’m your prime suspect.”

”I cannot comment on an open investigation.”

”Yet you came alone. Last night, and now here. Not standard procedure, I imagine.”

Ann avoided Lister’s amused gaze. Thankfully, their plates came. ”So. Explain, please,” Ann said and forked eggs into her mouth.

”Mmm. Do you know what clinical pathology is?”

”I’ve read a lot about it recently, as it happens. Research and identification of diseases, right?”

”Yes. And haematopathology in particular researches properties of blood-borne diseases. But it is so far removed from the flesh and blood of actual humans.” Lister forked some of her steak tartare into her mouth and hummed in delight. Ann shuddered.

”And so you, uh, cut into actual humans in your free time?”

”Yes. Scarification is a measured, controlled method of causing pain, but the response is as varied as the individuals are. Some faint, others orgasm. It is fascinating to see the ways with which mind prevails over matter.”

Ann’s eggs got stuck in her throat. She coughed. ”Surely there are more, er, conventional ways of studying this… thing.”

”Conventional is so boring and restricting. I did several years of medical school, DC Walker. Enough of that.”

”I still don’t understand.”

Lister took a moment to think, twirling her fork in her fingers. ”Let’s put it this way. I am endlessly captivated by our bodies, especially the brain. When you see one, it’s just meat, offal, like the rest of us,” Lister said. She leaned forward and caught Ann’s eye, gesturing expansively with her fork. ”Yet for some people, quite inexplicably, their brain compels them to fall in love with pain. Or perhaps fall in love with people who enjoy inflicting pain. I’m trying to understand it.”

”How, uh, how did you get into it?”

”The usual way. I have an ex who is a, well, a part-time sadist. A lovely woman otherwise.”

”It seems so… extreme and strange.” Ann found it hard to verbalise the jumble of thoughts in her brain. “And to do it at a party, of all places.”

”It’s not illegal but I’m sure you know that, DC Walker. And for some,” Lister said and ran her thumb along her lower lip, ”the turn-on is the audience witnessing their pain.”

Ann’s mouth felt dry. ”And for you?”

”I want to be absolutely clear.” Lister pointed at Ann and said, ”I am not a sadist. Or a masochist. I don’t personally enjoy pain in any form. I am merely fascinated by people who do, and I also enjoy scarification as a creative art.”

”So what you’re saying is that for you, it’s a hobby, not a fetish.”

Lister smiled and Ann’s insides lurched.  _ Goddamn that smile.  _ ”Exactly. Some of us knit, others create pottery. I do this thing. Well done, DC Walker.”

”And are you good?”

Lister’s lips twitched. ”I’m good at many things. Please be more specific.”

”You know what I mean,” Ann said, willing down her blush. 

”Yes. I’m very good. I also work for Doctors Without Borders, paint with oils, and do pilates. What do you do for fun, DC Walker?”

”Why, hm, why do I get the feeling that sometimes you’re flirting with m-me?” Ann cursed inwardly at the tremor she heard in her voice.

Lister smiled and leaned her chin on her palm. ”Am I?”

”I don’t know. You tell me.”

”If I were flirting, would you want me to stop?”

_ Please don’t ever stop,  _ Ann wanted to say. ”You are a person of interest in a murder investigation, Dr Lister. My investigation.”

”I did not kill Eliza.” There was no malice in Lister’s voice.

”You understand I can’t just take your word for it. And your art is on her skin, so you do realise how it looks.”

”Then I must place my trust in your professional acumen, DC Walker.”

* * *

When she got back home, Ann felt restless and rumpled in her best blouse that she had for some reason worn to the brunch. She switched her jeans for leggings and grabbed her laptop. A distraction would be good. Any distraction.

SOCO’s canvass report was in. No sign of a scalpel or anything that could have done the cuts on Eliza on a five-block radius. Ann had not been expecting any: Soho was a forest of wheelie bins that got emptied daily. Also in was the extended background check for William Rayne. Ann speed-read through it and then called Sam.

”Hello hello,” Sam answered cheerfully. Ann could hear the murmur of voices and clink of cutlery.

”You busy today? I’ve work stuff I want to run by you. Rayne and L-Lister”

”We’re at the in-laws for Alice’s birthday.” Sam had six daughters and to Ann, it seemed there was always a birthday or christening happening. ”A pint later, at the Hound?”

”Sounds like you might need two.”

Sam laughed and said his goodbyes. Ann set her phone down and fidgeted on the sofa. Her eyes went to the pile of fetishwear on the lounge chair. She sprang to action, packing them all away into the plastic bag. The squeak of rubber made her shiver. 

_ What are you feeling, Ann? Put it to words. _ She heard the words in the calm cadence of her grief therapist from ten years ago.

”Confused. Anxious.” 

The words sounded lonely in the quiet of her flat. Ann went to her bedroom. She looked at herself in the mirror and put her hand to her chest. 

”Alive… more alive. Curious.”

Ann ran her fingers along the collar of her blouse, touching the hollow of her throat. She imagined it was Lister’s hand, oxblood red nails pressed against her white skin.

”Excited. Oh fuck.”

* * *

They met at the Cock and the Hound, a pub halfway between Ann’s flat and Sam’s house. Many a mid-case pint had been had there.

Sam set the pint of bitter in front of Ann. ”You ought to pay for dragging me here on a Saturday.”

”Pfft. As if.” Ann sipped her beer. ”So. William Rayne. Two interesting things, want to guess?”

”He likes bestiality porn and is secretly an alien.”

Ann laughed. ”Hardly. But, he has financial troubles and, you’ll love this, he used to be an EMT.”

Sam set his pint down and leaned forward. ”Really?”

”Really. Got his license revoked for some reason almost fifteen years ago but that doesn’t mean he’s forgotten his training.”

”And the financials?”

”As far as I can tell, he’s haemorrhaging money. A big house, renovations, a nice car, the wife likes fancy jewellery. And he’s had three bad sales quarters in a row.” Ann gave Sam a meaningful look. “The elder Raynes are quite wealthy.”

Sam pursed his lips, obviously thinking. “Reaching a bit, maybe.”

“Maybe. I’m not yet through with all of his card statements, they’re a bit of a mess. Many cards.”

“What about Dr Lister, then?”

Ann grasped her pint glass tighter, to keep her hands from shaking. She had to tread carefully here. “I’ve now worked through her financials. She has many private purchases from medical equipment companies, too. Including scalpels and, uh, body modification equipment.”

Sam spluttered into his pint. “Body modification?”

“Electrosurgical branding,” Ann pretended to read off her notes. “I think that’s what’s on Eliza’s leg, the fleur-de-lis. How it was done.”

“You’ve done some googling.”

“Yes, I’ve done some googling. The odd parts of the internet, for sure.”

”Let’s call Dr Lister in for an interview tomorrow. It seems there’s a bit of a sinister side to her and that she was closer to Eliza than she originally let on.”

”Interview, on a Sunday?”

”Keeps her on her toes. Maybe she’s sensible enough to bring a solicitor.”

Ann sighed. ”You do the interview, I’ll go interview Sarah Erikson if she’s available.”


	9. Black Suit, Red Lipstick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ann saw Sam breathe in and out slowly. She knew Sam well; she could tell he was getting frustrated with Lister’s cool composure.

Sarah Erikson couldn’t see Ann until Sunday evening, so Ann holed up in the squad room and put on her headphones. She clicked on the interview room video and audio feeds on her laptop. 

Anne Lister, in a stupendous black suit, sat in one of the uncomfortable chairs. She looked completely at ease. In the chair next to her sat a dark-haired, formidable-looking woman in a sharp blue skirt suit, her lips a fiery red and her expression pure venom. This was probably Lister’s solicitor. Ann felt a pang of sympathy for Sam. The solicitor looked like she ate barbed wire for breakfast.

Sam leaned into the microphone. “Sunday April 23rd, 10:02 am. Interviewing Dr Anne Lister with Mariana Lawton representing her. DC Washington and PC Masterson conducting the interview.”

Mariana? Ann frowned. Surely… surely this was not the Mariana that Lister had mentioned at Torture Garden. Ann squinted at the ill-lit video feed. Perhaps it was. She wouldn’t put it past this woman to enjoy a bit of torture in her free time.

“DC Washington. I do hope you understand my client is doing you a favour, appearing here on a Sunday.” Mariana Lawton’s voice was a steel hand in a velvet glove.

“We appreciate your cooperation, Ms Lister, in this-”

“Dr Lister.”

Sam coughed. “Dr Lister. My apologies. Could you please tell how you know Eliza Rayne?”

Tuning out the conversation, Ann scrolled through her list of flagged items in William Rayne’s many credit statements. Her eyes kept stealing to the interview room feed on occasion. She felt off-kilter. Her professional life was in conflict with how bothered she felt whenever she was in Lister’s proximity. Or even three floors up from her, it seemed. 

In the interview room, Sam slid a photo across the table to Lister. “Can you tell me what this is?” Ann blinked and focused back on the video feed. 

Lister touched the picture. Her eyebrow twitched. “A fleur-de-lis.”

“Do you recognise it?”

“Yes. I did it on Eliza Rayne about a year ago, on her request. Cauterisation via electrosurgical branding.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

“DC Washington, are you implying that-” Mariana Lawton started but she was halted by Lister’s hand on her arm.

“It’s all right, Mariana,” Lister said and leaned forward, hands on the worn wood of the interview room desk. “Yes, I enjoyed it. For its artistic merits, and because Eliza loved it. Do you ask this question from every tattoo artist that comes here?”

“And what about the scalpels you’ve purchased, Dr Lister?”

Lister sat back. “I also practice scarification through traditional methods.”

“Cutting, you mean.”

“Yes.”

“Do you get a lot of practice?”

“Enough. Not as much as I did when I was doing my surgery rotation at St Mary’s, however.”

“Did you ever practice cutting on Eliza Rayne?”

“No. It was not her thing. I’m sure you understand how imperative consent is in these matters.”

Ann saw Sam breathe in and out slowly. She knew Sam well; she could tell he was getting frustrated with Lister’s cool composure. Shuffling papers, he paused.

“Dr Lister. Can you tell me your whereabouts last Saturday, between eight and midnight?”

Lawton answered. “She was attending a dinner party at my residence in Mayfair. Since I’m not an impartial witness, here is a list of the eighteen other people attending. Please contact any and all of them for corroboration.” She slid a paper to Sam. “The party ran from seven until three in the morning. Dr Lister stayed overnight.”

Sam took the list and frowned at it. “Thank you, Ms Lawton. Very kind of you.”

“Are we done?”

Sam folded the paper. “Yes, we are. Be advised that we may call on you to appear again for further interviews.”

“But of course, DC Washington,” Lister said and stood up. 

Ann tore off her headphones and rushed to the windows. She saw Lister and her solicitor exit. As they walked across the car park, Lister’s hand was on Lawton’s back and she was whispering into her ear. Lawton brushed her knuckles along Lister’s cheek and smiled indulgently. Ann felt vaguely uncomfortable at the gesture, at its obvious intimacy.

When Sam came back upstairs, Ann was back at her desk. “Did you watch it?” he asked.

“Yes. First impressions?”

“I agree with Masterson, Dr Lister is bloody scary. Too at ease.” Sam paused to look at the case board. “She’s got the means but no opportunity. Motive is vague, too, unless she’s a closet sadist. Which she very well could be. She’s already more than a bit perverted, with that scarification stuff.”

Ann glanced at the ceiling, feeling uncomfortable. “With the brother, it seems we have a faint motive and the means as well, but no opportunity.”

Sam took his coat off the back of his chair. “C’mon. Let’s find lunch and then go meet Sarah Erikson.”

* * *

Sarah Erikson was a whisper-thin girl, limp blonde hair and watery blue eyes. She became paler still at the mention of Eliza.

“I… I can’t believe Eliza is gone,” Sarah whispered and hugged herself. She looked cold even though her cramped flat was hot and stuffy. Ann was sweating in her leather jacket and jumper.

“Do you have any idea who could have done this to Eliza?” Ann asked. She felt like she had asked that question a million times in the past week.

“She was such a lovely person. Like a mother to me. She brought me soup when I had a cold last month,” Sarah said and sniffled. She wiped her nose on the sleeve of her hoodie. “I don’t know.”

“Did you ever meet any of her other friends?”

“Isabella, of course. And then her brother came to visit her at the cafe twice this month.”

Ann perked up and made a note in her pad. “Oh?”

“Yeah, and during the lunch hour rush, too. They argued. I couldn’t hear the words but I saw them at the corner table. Eliza was crying and he was…” Sarah trailed off and shivered. “He looked so angry.”

“Did you know Eliza was planning on moving back up to York?”

“Yeah, she talked about it all the time. To help her parents. And to make sure her brother didn’t… didn’t do anything untoward.”

“Like what?” Sam asked.

Sarah frowned. “I don’t know. That was the word Eliza used. Untoward.”

After the interview, when they emerged back into the April sun, Ann exhaled and fanned her jumper hem. It cooled her marginally. They set off towards their car.

“So.”

Sam took out his phone. “I’m going to call Shelley to pull more info on the Rayne family finances. See if there’s a will.”

“Include his wife, too. Credit cards, the lot.”

“Good idea.”

As Sam made the call, Ann looked at her feet. Chelsea boots, finally footwear suitable for a laboratory. She tried to figure out whether she liked the brother for the crime because he was a genuine lead, or because it took attention away from Anne Lister. She didn’t know which option was more true, and it bothered her.


	10. Rock Paper Scissors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ann felt a frisson of excitement to go through her. “Well well. Really?”

Ann started her Monday with a good hard stare at the case board. 

Were they missing anything? Was she looking outside the box enough? It was a premeditated murder, but what did that mean in this case? The violent slashes across Eliza’s chest did not look premeditated - they were pure anger. Who was capable of such a thing?

Her eyes strayed to Lister’s headshot. It was her staff picture from The London Clinic. The slight tilt of her head looked so arrogant, so imperious. The real person was… much more complex. Ann’s mind flashed to Lister’s hand on the scalpel, preternaturally steady as she carved slices out of a man’s back. His blood, maroon and wet on her gloves.

Ann pressed her hand to her eyes. She had a tic in her eyelid.

“Hey, finally CCTV from the alley.”

Ann turned. “Rock paper scissors? Winner gets Mrs Rayne’s bank statements.”

Ann lost. A new cup of tea in hand, she sat down and started with the evening of Eliza’s murder. A constant stream of people flowed past the mouth of the alley but few went in. Kitchen workers in their stained whites shuffled back and forth to the wheelie bins, and then at half past eight, Ann paused the video. It was Eliza Rayne.

Ann sat up in her chair and slowed the video down. Ten minutes later, another figure entered the alley. Ann paused and leaned closer. Black clothes, hood up. Very white hands, probably gloves. 

“So, hey, come look at this.”

Sam’s words brought Ann out of her concentration. She rolled her chair around their desks and bumped into Sam’s. “Show me.”

“Mrs Rayne has two credit cards. One is full of the usuals, pedicure places and shoe shops. The other is far more interesting. Look here,” Sam said and pointed at his screen. “A charge from the Gielgud. And another here. And here.”

Ann noted the dates. Three weeks ago, two weeks ago, a week and a half. 

“And this is the most curious one, two months ago,” Sam continued. “This web site, can you guess what it sells?”

“Horse semen?”

Sam snorted and poked her on the shoulder. “Silly. No. Lockpicks and practice locks.”

Ann felt a frisson of excitement to go through her. “Well well. Really?”

“Really.” Sam’s eyes sparkled.

“Tell you what. Let’s split the alley CCTV. You take the first two dates and I’ll take the last one.”

They spent a silent, intense half an hour on the CCTV footage and then compared screenshots. Ann looked at Sam and she couldn’t contain her infectious smile.

“We’re thinking the same thing, aren’t we?”

Sam stood up and reached for his coat. “Call us a SOCO and then O’Neill to bring around a pool car. I’ll ring the manager at Gielgud and the court clerk.”

* * *

“I would like to show you some pictures now, Mr Rayne.” Sam fanned out the screenshots from the alley CCTV on the interview room’s scuffed table. “Do you recognise any of these people?”

Rayne leaned over the pictures. Ann saw that his upper lip was perspiring. “This looks like Eliza,” he said and pointed at one. “The rest, I don’t know.”

“Would it surprise to know these stills of a hooded man entering the alley where Eliza was killed correspond to the evenings you visited the Gielgud?”

Rayne glanced at his solicitor, who looked puzzled. “What visits?” Rayne asked.

Ann flipped open her pad and rattled the dates. “These are from charges to your wife’s other credit card, from the Gielgud. Coincidentally, these are all evenings she was out of town. And you were not. I think if we asked your wife, she’d have no idea which card we’re talking about.”

“I don’t understand.”

Ann slapped down a printout. “This credit card. Which also has a charge that matches a set of lockpicks and two practice locks. SOCO is combing through your house as we speak. This was sloppy of you, Mr Rayne.”

Rayne’s eyes widened. “You can’t do that! Can they do that?” he asked his solicitor.

“If they have a search warrant, they can,” the solicitor said stiffly.

“We visited the Gielgud today, Mr Rayne. SOCO found clear lockpick scratches on the inner door that leads to the back alley. Multiple layers of scratches. You practiced your route three times. Very studious of you.”

Rayne was now very pale, the stubble on his non-chin a stark black against his skin. 

Ann tapped her notepad. “We’ve been busy. We also spoke to your wife. She admitted that she was busy vomiting in the ladies room all through intermission but didn’t tell us because she was embarrassed. Morning sickness is awful, isn’t it? She said she left you in your seat and again found you there after the intermission.” Ann smiled. “All your practicing certainly paid off. Excellent timing, Mr Rayne.”

“And do you know what else we found today? A fingerprint on the lock that was picked. SOCO is running matches for it now.” Sam paused for effect. “You do remember that you were fingerprinted twenty years ago, when you started as EMT? Fingerprints do not age, you see.”

Ann leaned forward. ”Apart from the credit card, this was so well planned, Mr Rayne. I think you called Eliza and invited her to meet you in that alley to talk about… what? The inheritance? Her move to York? But you really had no intention of talking with her, did you. You had something else planned for her.”

The tense silence in the room lasted maybe ten seconds. Ann watched Rayne, unblinking. He was breathing very fast, his gaze flicking to the door as if he was going to bolt. Ann knew it could go either way here: either he would crumble or he would rally.

Rayne chose the former. He buried his head in his hands and mumbled, “I have a family. A baby soon. I need to provide and I.... And then she threatened to…” He paused to inhale and when he sat up, his eyes shone with tears. “She always had her way with our parents. She was going to steal my inheritance, what’s rightfully mine. That bitch,” he said but without much anger.

Rayne’s shoulders shook as he cried. Ann leaned back, watching him fall apart. 

* * *

When she got home that evening, Ann felt tipsy from the three celebratory pints she’d had with the squad - daring for a Monday. She paced, restless, until she got to her bedroom mirror. She looked at herself: hair in a messy braid, her blue blouse unironed, khaki trousers wrinkled from too much sitting. 

Ann opened one more button on her blouse and slid her hand in, fingers cold against her chest. She closed her eyes and imagined a different hand there. The thought made her shiver and not from the cold.

In the kitchen, Ann poured herself a glass of wine and dug out her phone. She dialled before she would lose her alcohol-induced bravado.

“Good evening, Dr Lister. I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time?”

Ann heard piano music and the sound of people laughing in the background. “Not at all. Lovely to hear your voice, DC Walker. What can I do for you?”

“Can we… we should meet. Thursday, I think. I might have some good news for you.”

“Really? Well certainly. You have me intrigued.”

“Excellent. And, Dr Lister?

“Yes?”

Ann took a deep breath and exhaled. “Please call me Ann.”


	11. Life and Light and Perfection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a brief, bright moment, Ann hoped Lister was going to kiss her.

The Soho espresso bar was light and airy, the late afternoon sunlight gleaming off the dark wood panelling and floor. They met inside and Lister guided her to the counter, her hand on Ann’s lower back. Ann was acutely aware of the touch; it brought her skin to goosebumps. They ordered and sat down.

“Tell me, then,” Lister said and sniffed her coffee. She looked supremely relaxed sitting in her chair, wearing another superb suit of skinny trousers and a tuxedo jacket under a grey overcoat. 

“William Rayne was arraigned on Tuesday. We have a confession from him so it should be an open and shut case.”

“Well now. Congratulations, Ann.”

Ann bit her lip and focused on her flat white. It sounded so strange, her name on Lister’s lips. “I’m glad it’s solved.”

“And that it wasn’t me, surely.” 

“Perhaps,” Ann said and gave Lister an impish look. 

”Oh I see, that’s how it is,” Lister said, clearly humoured. ”Did you ever think it was me?”

Ann thought about it for a moment. ”No. Well, yes, when I saw you in Torture Garden. But not really. You seem entirely too… content and at ease with who and what you are.”

”Really? That was it?”

”Murders like this, planned but full of rage, tend to have its roots in discontent and jealousy. Ugly feelings that stem from despair or lack of self esteem. That’s not you at all.”

”That’s fascinating, Ann,” Lister said; she sounded genuinely interested. 

”It’s the job. You learn to read people.”

Lister leaned forward, forearms on the table. “And how do you read me, Ann?”

Ann pursed her lips, thinking. “I think. Hm, well. I think you... you come across a bit menacing at times.”

”Mmm. So I’m often told. I do hope it’s not going to drive you away, Ann. Because that would be such a shame,” Lister said and smiled the smile of a well-practiced deviant.

_ Oh bloody hell, that smile, fuck. _ Ann sighed. ”You’re doing it again, Dr Lister.” 

“It’s Anne. Doing what again?”

“You. Doing that thing. Flirting. That smile.”

“Hm. Would you like me to stop?”

“Please don’t.”

Lister exhaled a laugh. She sat back. “So. I have a bit of an unusual request, Ann.”

”Now you have me nervous.”

”Nothing Fred-level bizarre. I wanted to meet here in Soho because, hm, I was wondering. If you could show me where Eliza was found?”

Ann frowned. “Why?”

“For closure, I suppose.” Lister looked at the far wall and ran her thumb along her lower lip. Ann was hypnotised by it. “I don’t like vague facts. Rather the harsh truth, whenever possible.”

“Uh, of course.”

* * *

The alley was dark and it took Ann a while before her eyes adjusted to the low light. She pointed at the far end.

“There. Behind the fourth wheelie bin.”

Lister looked but did not move into the alley. She put her hands in her overcoat pockets. “Do you know why Eliza wanted a fleur-de-lis?” Lister didn’t wait for Ann to answer. “It symbolises life and light. Perfection. She was turning her life around.”

“And then this,” Ann said faintly.

“She lived such a sad, difficult life. It’s inexcusable she died in this sad manner, too.”

“These cases, they… they get to you, over time,” Ann said quietly and glanced at Lister. “You must’ve lost patients, too.”

Lister exhaled. “Yes. Clinical pathology is better but also somehow worse. I don’t get to give death sentences to people in person any more. I just witness them through the microscope.”

_ What are you feeling, Ann? Put it to words,  _ Ann thought again. “It also makes me feel acutely alive and lucky. Here, now. In this moment.”

Lister took Ann’s shoulder and turned to face her. Ann held her breath as Lister’s hand came to her cheek; the touch was electric. Lister’s eyes were dark and warm and Ann had difficulty holding her gaze.

“Every moment, packed with potential,” Lister said quietly. Her thumb brushed along Ann’s cheek. “I would like to take you out on a proper date now, Ann. If I may.”

Ann’s insides felt like hot jelly again. “I would like that. Yes. Very much,” she said, voice unsteady.

“Good. Excellent.”

“Not to Torture Garden, I hope.”

Lister smiled. “Let’s reserve that for a much later date.”

Then Lister’s lips parted and Ann thought she might faint; for a brief, bright moment, Ann hoped Lister was going to kiss her. The kiss came to her cheek, fleeting and soft.

“Saturday?” 

Ann blinked rapidly. This close, she could feel the heat of Lister’s body, drown in the faint scent of her perfume. “Yes. Saturday. Lovely.”

“See you then, Ann.”

And then Lister was gone, walking off towards Oxford Circus, her overcoat billowing behind her. Ann stared after her for a long moment and then she could move again.

* * *

Friday seemed to pass very slowly. Ann cleaned her email inbox and then filed her final report on Eliza Rayne. The last thing to do was to clean the case board - Ann’s favourite part of any case.

Ann unpinned all the photos, lingering on the fleur-de-lis. She traced the scar lines in the photo with a finger. It really was very skilfully done, symmetrical and… beautiful. 

Eliza Rayne’s headshot was the last photo to come down. Ann looked at her, hoping she had done her justice as much as she was able to. She shuffled the stack of photos until Lister’s was on top. She stared at it, feeling breathless. No matter what happened on Saturday, this case had changed her life.

Ann shoved the photos and papers into the confidential material burn bin and sat back down at her desk with a sigh. 

Sam stood and pulled his coat on. ”Ready for the weekend?”

”I’m hoping for no murders. Any plans?” 

”A busy weekend of ferrying the girls to their various hobbies,” Sam sighed. ”How about you?”

Ann felt giddy. She had to tell someone. ”I have a date. On Saturday.”

Sam waggled his eyebrows and grinned. ”Ooh, good for you! I’m on call, you should have a calm date evening. Or maybe a busy one, if you know what I mean?”

Ann stood up again and poked him on the shoulder. ”Stop it, you.”

”See you Monday.”

”Have a good one, Sam.”

Ann put on her jacket as well and glanced at the empty board. Ready for the next tragedy.


	12. Like Lightning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh, the things I will show you, Ann Walker.”

”I’ve never been here before.”

”Really? Well, you’re in for a treat. Unless you object to contemporary art.”

“I don’t. I like art,” Ann said and looked around the cavernous white front room of the Saatchi Gallery. “I just… well, I don’t go out much.”

They walked through the gallery rooms leisurely, the art sometimes breathtaking and sometimes completely incomprehensible. Somewhere along the way, Lister took Ann’s hand and Ann felt slightly breathless for a long while. Eventually, they sat down on a bench in a room that had two paintings on one wall and the other walls full of giant ant sculptures. Ann’s feet hurt; she had worn her nice shoes, rather than the comfortable ones.

Lister sat so close her knee was touching Ann’s. “So why do you not go out much?”

“Work,” Ann sighed. Daring, she leaned her shoulder against Lister’s. “Mostly work.”

“Do you like it? The Met.”

“I do. It’s hard work, often awful. But the feeling of a case cracking open, of threads connecting, oh,” Ann said and smiled. “It’s wonderful.”

“When did you decide to become a police officer?”

Ann stared at the painting on the wall in front of her. It was an enormous turquoise seascape and the whole top half of the frame was curving out and down in a giant sculpted wave. The effect was disconcerting and enthralling.

“My… my parents were killed when I was nineteen. Traffic accident. They never caught the driver. It’s a cliche but I never wanted anyone else to experience that sort of uncertainty.”

“I’m sorry, Ann. You don’t have to talk about it.” Lister took her hand again. 

“It’s all right. I had… many years of good therapy. And having a goal, a job, helped during the dark times. And I had Elizabeth.” At Lister’s enquiring look, Ann added, “My sister. She lives up north. She supported me a lot, even when the rest of the family clan was scandalised at my choice of profession.”

Lister made a thoughtful sound. He squeezed Ann’s hand. “I wonder whether Eliza’s life could have gone differently if she’d had some or all of those. Quality medical care, a loving family, a purpose.”

Ann rested her head on Lister’s shoulder. It felt warm and firm under the fine cotton of her button-up. The scent of her perfume was faint but clear; Ann desperately wanted to chase it to the open collar of Lister’s shirt and along her neck. Yet, she stared at the painting, the bold strokes of white against the ocean foam green breathtaking.

“Let’s continue,” Ann said. She felt too nervous to sit still.

In the next room, contemporary portraits met a variety of sculptures. Ann stopped at a bronze statue that looked like a pig’s head in a bin liner. She opened her mouth to ask a question when Lister’s arms came around her waist from behind and drew her close; the question died on Ann’s lips, forgotten. She leaned back into Lister and closed her eyes. 

“Do you like this one?” Lister asked, close to Ann’s ear. 

“I… I can’t seem to think. With you there.”

Lister laughed. The low sound throbbed in Ann’s abdomen, hot and tight. Lister brushed her hair to a side and then her mouth was on Ann’s neck, the touch light.

“Soon I won’t be able to stand, either,” Ann whispered. She tilted her head, inviting Lister to explore further.

“In contemporary art, I like unusual forms that use traditional techniques, like this one here. Trash, in bronze. The juxtaposition of old and new is enthralling,” Lister murmured. Her teeth grazed along Ann’s neck. “It’s exquisite. Mmm.”

Ann shivered, feeling like she was about to burst. “Oh stop it and kiss me properly, Anne,” she managed, voice unsteady.

”Really? Here?”

”Yes. Really. Now.”

Lister turned Ann and pressed her against the white wall next to the pig’s head statue. Hands firm on Ann’s hips, Lister ghosted her lips on Ann’s. Ann made an animal sound in her throat, grabbed Lister’s collars, and mashed her open mouth against Lister’s. Lister hummed her delight into the hard press of their lips, her tongue finding Ann’s. Ann felt her whole body glow white-hot at the touch.

Ann didn’t know how long they stood there kissing, her body squirming between Lister and the wall. That kiss was all that she had imagined kissing a woman was like, and so much more. Ann swallowed the sounds she was desperate to make; she wanted to moan her pleasure, unbutton Lister’s shirt, devour every inch of her skin.

When Lister finally stepped back, Ann was panting and lightheaded. She saw that Lister’s mouth was red from their kiss. It was the most erotic thing she had ever seen. 

“You should know,” Ann whispered, “that I have no clue what I’m doing.” She reluctantly let go of Lister’s collars.

A frown line appeared between Lister’s eyebrows. “How so?”

“I’m.. I’ve never- I’ve not, uh…” Ann stammered. She looked around the quiet gallery. “You know.”

“Oh. Oh! Never?”

Nervous and embarrassed, Ann fingered the hem of her shirt. “Well. Never, uh, with a woman.”

Lister’s expression turned to humoured. “I see. Well now. This is unexpected.”

“Why?”

“You are so lovely, Ann. That’s why.” Lister ran her knuckles down Ann’s cheek. “Let’s go to the restaurant and talk”

“So it’s not a problem that I’ve not…”

“No. Not a problem. Quite the opposite.” Lister took Ann’s hand and brought it to her lips. “Oh, the things I will show you, Ann Walker.”

Ann exhaled unsteadily. “Just the restaurant first, please.”

* * *

The Gallery Mess restaurant served them a selection of excellent canapés, wine, and a lovely view into the Saatchi gardens. Ann looked out to the lawn, at the children and couples strolling across its spring-green expanse. 

“No wild student life debauchery for you at Uni?”

Ann blinked and looked at Lister. “A few drunken fumblings with boys but that was just… no.” Ann made a face that made Lister laugh. “And since then, only second-hand lesbian experiences on the internet. If you know what I mean.”

“Ah yes. The internet is good for that sort of thing,” Lister said and smiled wickedly. Ann’s breathing hitched.  _ That goddamn smile.  _ “No She Soho or Tinder for you, then?”

Ann opened her mouth and then closed it. She ate a canapé and thought. “Well,” she finally said. “It’s kind of embarrassing. I’ve been behind the door of a gay bar twice, but never dared to go in. It’s… hard, when you have no gay friends. Having to go alone. Easier just to stay home. Like I said, I don’t go out much.”

Lister made a thoughtful sound and sipped her wine. Ann got lost in thought for awhile as she looked at Lister’s red nail drawing circles on the glass. 

“So what happens now?” Ann asked, tearing her gaze away from Lister’s hands. 

“I know what I would like to happen now,” Lister said, eyeing Ann in a manner that was entirely indecent. “Unfortunately I have an evening engagement. Well, Fred does. I need to get ready soon.”

“More painful, pretty art for people?”

“Yes. Are you put off by the thought?”

Ann paused, thinking. ”I still find it strange. A bit frightening, what you do. But I realise it’s… you’re allowed to like odd things.  _ You’re  _ not frightening, Anne.” She smiled at Lister. “Send me pictures?”

Lister frowned, clearly surprised. “Really?”

“Really. I’m also curious,” Ann said. “Genuinely so. Professionally. I’ve been reading on the psychopathology of masochism recently and it’s fascinating.”

“So it is.”

“And tomorrow?” Ann said and bit into a haddock croquette. It was very good. 

“Eager much?”

Ann leaned forward, forearms on the table, and caught Lister’s eye. “Yes. Very.”

“Let me buy you a proper lunch tomorrow. I should be awake and up by noon.”

“Whenever is best for you. I have all day tomorrow. And all night.”

Lister ran her tongue along her lower lip. “All night?”

Ann sat back and took a large gulp of her wine. Lister gazed at her steadily, hotly; Ann’s insides twisted in delicious anticipation. It would be a long Saturday night alone and she doubted she would be able to sleep.


	13. Nouvelle Cuisine Starters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you want to skip dessert and find out?”

Ann walked along the high street in a daze. She kept touching her lips; they felt bruised and hot from Lister’s savage goodbye kiss. Her feet hurt but she didn’t care - she was on a mission. 

When Ann entered Catherine’s shop, it was quiet inside despite it being a late Saturday afternoon. A few patrons browsed, soft music played quietly, and Ann could smell the expensive shoe leather and silk in the air. She found Catherine at the till, talking with a young salesgirl.

“Ann! What are you doing here?” Catherine said and came around the counter to hug her. 

“Hello, my favourite cousin. I have another favour to ask.”

Catherine held her at arm’s length and frowned. “Not more freaky latex, I hope?”

“No! Oh, no,” Ann said and bit her lip. “Just regular clothing. I have… a special date tomorrow.”

“Date? Like, date-date?” Catherine’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Don’t look so surprised.”

“Well I am!” Catherine pulled her behind the counter by the arm. “Tell me everything.” 

Ann blushed and looked around. Catherine’s shop was nothing but high-end clothing, dresses that cost more than her monthly pay and shoes that defied the laws of physics. She could never own any of this stuff but borrowing was fair game - even if it meant she had to lie to her cousin. 

“I’ll tell you afterwards, Cath. If you help me. Nothing too fancy, it’s just lunch.”

“Ooh, you drive a hard bargain. Only if you promise to tell me all later.”

“Promise.”

“All right,” Catherine said and grinned. She clapped her hands. “We’ll start with underwear.”

* * *

Ann got home with a garment bag that she hung on her bedroom door. To pass time, she opened a bottle of wine and sat down with Netflix. Two episodes into her favourite show, she dozed off. 

When she woke up, it was dark. Fumbling for her phone, she found that it was past midnight and she had two new messages from Lister. They were pictures. 

The first had the image of a peacock feather in vivid red blood, carved on a man’s forearm. The second picture was taken by someone else. It had Lister in profile, her respirator on and her black rubber apron gleaming in the harsh light of the flash. She was drawing on the inner thigh of a young, blonde woman with the electrosurgical branding device. The woman’s face was just in frame at the top. Her eyes were closed but her mouth was open in a moan - or perhaps a scream. 

Ann poured more wine; it was too warm but she didn’t care. She emptied the glass in two gulps and then looked at the picture again. The scene was so very grotesque yet somehow mesmerising, especially the blonde woman’s face that was twisted in obvious tortured ecstasy.

“You sent this specific picture on purpose,” Ann muttered to herself. “You wanted me to see her make that face. Are you trying to frighten me away?”

Thinking of how she felt, Ann stood up and went into the bedroom to look at herself in the mirror again.

”Terrified.” Ann frowned. No, that felt wrong. Lister did not scare her. What she did, that scared her, but in her presence Ann felt perfectly safe. And Ann didn’t think the picture was meant to frighten. What was it meant to do?

”I feel… intrigued.” Ann closed her eyes and imagined the blonde woman in her mind, so ecstatic and enthralled in Lister’s hands. ”Ah. Annoyed. Jealous. Oh hell.”

Ann exhaled and opened her eyes. She grinned at herself sheepishly in the mirror. Whatever the purpose of the picture had been, it had made her jealous. Now the question was, how to get Lister’s attention?

Ann looked at the garment bag and then tossed it on the bed to unzip it. Her hands shook with unnamed, pent-up energy. From the bottom of the bag she retrieved the underwear Catherine had chosen for her - a sheer black bra and knickers, ridiculously expensive and racy but not too explicit. Ann took off her clothes, put the flimsy underthings on, and adjusted her breasts in the meagre bra cups until they were just right.

She sat on the edge of her bed and looked at herself in her full-length mirror. Would this do the job? ”Go on, Ann. Do it,” she whispered to herself.

Her curly hair a messy mane, legs spread just so, Ann took a picture of herself in the mirror. Before she lost her alcohol-fuelled nerve and before she started to over-analyse how she looked in the picture, she sent it to Lister. 

She had to wait six minutes and another glass of wine before her phone dinged with text messages.

_ \--- 00:18 [Anne Lister] Ann _

_ \--- 00:18 [Anne Lister] Don’t tease _

_ \--- 00:22 [Anne Lister] I can’t stop looking at you _

Ann bit her lower lip. She felt tremulous, fearful of her own daring… and also turned on by the thought of Lister looking at the picture of her, fire in her eyes. 

_ \--- 00:25 [Ann Walker] I’m going to bed now _

_ \--- 00:25 [Ann Walker] Not to sleep but to think of your hands on me _

Ann slipped off the knickers and bra. By the time she had brushed her teeth and got into bed, she had new messages.

_ \--- 00:31 [Anne Lister] Oh fuck _

_ \--- 00:31 [Anne Lister] Ann don’t do this to me _

_ \--- 00:32 [Anne Lister] I won’t be able to sleep tonight _

Ann smiled at the ceiling and put her phone away. Sleep did not come easy for her, either.

* * *

The next day, the garden of the Fulham gastropub was very cozy and very full even for a sunny Sunday afternoon. Ann chased the last morsels of her excellent grouse pie into her mouth and then sat back. She looked at Lister, seated across from her; Ann thought she looked superb in her sunglasses and skinny jeans with a slate grey jacket. Ann wanted to twist her fingers into the belt loops of Lister’s jeans and pull her into a bruising kiss. 

“How was evening at Fred’s?”

“Busy,” Lister said and speared the last of the pheasant on her plate. “I did have time to watch a couple of the shows, though.”

“Mariana’s, too?”

Lister smiled. “Yes. As I’m sure you’ve figured out, she’s the evil ex who got me into this thing. Also my solicitor. Funny how lives intertwine.” 

“She’s a bit scary.”

“You have no idea. She’s a lovely person but she will also literally peel the skin off a man without a second thought.”

“You were never into that?”

Lister shook her head and dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “No. That’s what drove us apart - she wanted a full-time plaything and I am not submissive in any shape or form.”

“No, I don’t think you are,” Ann said and sipped her cider. It was fresh and effervescent, lovely with the pie.

“Quite so.”

Ann sat back and fingered her collar. She drew strength from the luxurious, silky smooth feel of her wraparound blouse and the navy skirt that hugged her hips just so; the expensive clothes made Ann feel more confident than she usually did. Sexy, even. 

“And how did you sleep?”

Lister pushed her sunglasses to her forehead. She gave Ann a look. “Not very well. You know why.”

“You started it with that picture.”

“Mmm. My intent was not to start anything, but I’m not complaining.”

“I slept very well. After I’d, you know,” Ann said and made a vague gesture in her lap. 

“I see.” Lister ran her fingers along her lower lip. Her eyes were gleaming with heat now. “And you did so in that indecent little set of underthings, I imagine. Are you wearing them now?”

“Maybe.”

Lister tilted her head. “What do you mean, maybe?”

Ann shifted nervously and looked at Lister. “Do you want to skip dessert and find out?”


	14. The Better Dessert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What do you want, Ann?” 
> 
> Seriously NSFW.

The gastropub was three blocks from Lister’s flat and it was the longest short walk Ann had ever endured. Lister pulled her along by the arm, her long strides far faster than Ann could manage in her heels. Ann laughed breathlessly at the pace.

When Lister’s flat door closed behind her, Ann glimpsed large, airy rooms with sparse furniture and large, chaotic paintings. She didn’t have time for a closer look before Lister came to stand behind her again, hands on her waist. 

“Look at yourself,” Lister whispered into her ear. 

Ann exhaled unsteadily and focused on the full-length foyer mirror in front of them. A flash of acute shyness shot through Ann. Her heart hammered in her chest, from the fast walk and from the reality of the situation. She was doing this now. Here. With Lister. Who was looking at her in the mirror, naked want in her eyes. 

As Ann watched, wired and enthralled, Lister unzipped her skirt and pushed it down. It pooled around Ann’s high heels and she stepped out of it. 

“So you are wearing them.”

Ann laughed weakly and then a moan escaped her as Lister’s hand slid between her legs. The light touch was maddening through the thin material of the knickers. She forgot all about her shyness and leaned back against Lister.

“Do you… do you like them?”

“Oh Ann,” Lister murmured and kissed along her neck; Ann watched her do it in the mirror and it was impossibly hot to look at. “I’ve thought of nothing else since last night. Since you sent me that picture.”

Lister’s touch on her was delicate and slow; Ann could feel herself already soaking through the thin fabric. Lister slipped one finger inside her knickers, the touch ghostly. Ann groaned; she thought she would die from frustrated anticipation.

“And did you shave for me, too?”

Ann squirmed at the touch. She exhaled unsteadily. “I didn’t know, ah, how you like it. But yes.”

Lister’s finger was still teasing her, ever so lightly. “I like you just like this. You are so fucking delicious.”

Ann couldn’t stand it any more, couldn’t look at herself getting touched any longer. Her legs were trembling with need and heat. “Take me to bed. Now. Please, Anne.”

“Are you sure?” Lister whispered into her ear. 

“Of course I’m bloody sure,” Ann managed in a strangled whisper. She pressed Lister’s hand against her wetness. “Can’t you tell?”

Lister pulled back and her smile was like a straight razor, sharp and burnished. “This way.”

The bedroom was bathed in bright afternoon light, the air cool and scented faintly with Lister’s perfume. The bed was large and it had very white sheets. Ann sat on the edge of the bed, momentarily self-conscious. 

Lister’s eyes never left hers as she took off her jacket and kicked off her shoes. She kneeled in front of Ann. “Are you scared?” she asked quietly.

“A little,” Ann said. “No, not scared. Um. Unsure of what I’m supposed to do.”

“Well then. Let me.”

Lister smiled at her reassuringly and took off Ann’s shoes. She ran her hands along Ann’s legs, from ankle to thigh, and then her thumbs brushed the apex of Ann’s legs, teasingly close to her sex. Ann stared at the dark red nails against her white thighs and her blood turned to quicksilver in her veins. This was the stuff of her fantasies. 

When Lister kissed her, it was unhurried. Her lips were soft and when Ann grasped Lister’s shoulders, they felt like solid steel and strength. Lister undid Ann’s blouse; goosebumps gathered at Ann’s sides at the sudden chill.

Lister pulled back and ran her thumbs across Ann’s nipples, peaked against the thin material of the bra. Ann’s breathing hitched. 

“Oh, Ann,” Lister said thickly. ”Wonderful.”

She took off Ann’s blouse and bra and then her mouth was on Ann’s breast, teeth raking her nipple. Ann moaned, swaying at the intensity of the sensation and how it made her throb with need. 

Lister squeezed her thighs and whispered, “Get on the bed.”

With shaky arms, Ann scooted back on the bed and laid down. She watched Lister impatiently kick off her jeans, and then Lister’s mouth and fingers were back on her breasts. The sensation was overwhelming, her back arching off the bed as she whimpered her nameless desire. Lister’s hair fanned on her chest and Ann slid her shaking hands through it, marvelling the fact that this was actually happening. This wondrous event, Lister’s mouth and hands and weight on her, magical and hot.

After an interminable eternity of delicious torture, Lister let go and sat up between Ann’s legs. Ann was panting unsteadily, body shivering and feverish. Lister’s gaze was hot and hard on her. Again, she stroked Ann through the thin material of the knickers and just watched as Ann squirmed on the bed. 

“Did you think of this when touched yourself last night? My hands, doing this to you?” Lister’s voice was rough with barely controlled want. 

“Yes,” Ann hissed and managed a breathless laugh. “But this… this is much, oh, much better than my imagination.”

“What do you want, Ann?” Her finger was still just stroking Ann with that maddening, fleeting touch.

“I want you to stop teasing me and fuck me,” Ann exhaled and fisted her hands into the sheets. She was beyond caring how desperate she sounded. “Anne. Please.”

With a growl, Lister yanked Ann’s knickers off and then pushed her legs wide open. She spread Ann’s folds with her thumbs and Ann inhaled sharply at the sensation of cool air on her wet centre. 

“Oh, you are so pink and perfect,” Lister murmured as she gazed down at Ann. “I bet I’ll love tasting you, too. If only you could see how wet and ready you are.”

Ann panted, her limbs quivering with need. She felt self-conscious for being so intimately exposed but also, she had never been so turned on in her life. That overrode all of her sense of propriety. When Lister’s thumb brushed over her clit, Ann sobbed in relief. And when Lister slowly slid a finger into her, that sob turned into an animal sound. Ann closed her eyes as her inner walls fluttered around the finger, bright hot and delicious.

“So fucking perfect,” Ann heard Lister whisper. 

“You are… ah, still teasing. Oh god,” Ann moaned.

“Mmm. I suppose I am.”

Lister pushed two fingers, hard, into Ann. Crying out, Ann convulsed, hands pulling at the sheets white-knuckled. She twisted her hips to meet Lister’s thrusts that came faster and harder. And when Lister came down on top of her, her body hot and heavy, Ann pulled her by the hair into a fierce, inelegant kiss that was full of teeth.

The hard pace of Lister’s hand stoked something too hot inside Ann, pain and pleasure mingling. Ann tried to spread her legs wider, desperate for something more that she could not describe. Her breathing came out as gasps against Lister’s lips, at the pace of her thrusts. 

Lister pulled her lip from between Ann’s teeth and propped herself up on one elbow. “Look at me, Ann,” she growled, voice gone hoarse.

Ann opened her eyes with difficulty. Lister’s dark hair was a wild mane and Ann shivered at the look of raw want in her eyes. Lister’s hand paused inside Ann and she curled her fingers, just so. Ann cried out, head thrown back; these were places and sensations she hadn’t known existed. 

”Oh, you beautiful thing,” Lister breathed.

Lister’s mouth came to her breast again and then lower, the fingers still stoking fire inside her. And when Lister settled between her legs, Ann forced her head up to look at her. 

”Oh god,” she panted. The first wet touch of Lister’s tongue on her clit was hot and magical, soft at first and then firm. ”Oh Anne, oh god, what are you...”

When Lister’s mouth pressed against her fully, Ann threw back her head, speechless. She squirmed away, the sensation too intense. Lister chased her, hand on her hip, not letting go. Lister’s tongue did something so magical and sublime to her that Ann could do nothing but sob in desperation as her release coiled deep in her.

”I’m, Anne, ah, I think I’m going to...”

Lister kept the steady pressure with her tongue, fingers still thrusting inside Ann. Ann sank her fingers in Lister’s hair, willing her even closer. And then Ann’s release built to a breaking point and she rose into it, higher until she saw and felt the stars explode inside her. Waves of pleasure skittered along her limbs, over and over, until she could not bear it any more and had to scream in despair and ecstasy. 

Ann shivered and sobbed as the heat of her release receded, leaving her spent. Lister pulled Ann into her arms and ran her hands along Ann’s back and arms as she hiccuped and tried to catch her breath. 

”You are so perfect, Ann,” Lister whispered into her ear. 

”Oh hell,” Ann exhaled and then swallowed with difficulty. ”You. Witchcraft.” 

”Mmm. You just wait.”

”I, oh, don’t know how you’re going to top that.”

”Well, my dear,” Lister said and Ann could hear the smile in her voice. She got up and straddled Ann’s hips. ”We have all night to try.”

Ann pulled at the hem of Lister’s white t-shirt. Her hand trembled. “Take this off.”

Lister complied and tossed the shirt to the floor. Ann’s breath caught again. She smoothed her hands along Lister’s waist and to her chest, the skin warm against her palms. She traced the edge of Lister’s bra cups, feeling the soft swell of her breasts, watching Lister’s dark gaze burn. 

Lister came down on all fours above her. “What do you want, Ann?” she asked again. She stared at Ann, unblinking, her mouth gleaming with Ann’s wetness.

“I… I want to touch you.”

“Well, then. Touch me.”

Ann exhaled and reached to undo the clasp of Lister’s bra. She struggled it off Lister and then cupped her full breasts. Her skin was so smooth and their weight so delicious in her hands that Ann let out a breathy sigh. She was mesmerised.

”How does it feel, Ann?”

Ann tore her eyes from Lister’s breasts to her eyes. ”Wonderful. Unexpected. Just… wonderful.”

Lister made an amused sound deep in her throat. ”Go on then.”

Ann reached between them. She found the waistband of Lister’s boy shorts and slipped her hand in, not knowing what to expect. When her fingers slid through Lister’s folds, Ann couldn’t help but groan. It was hot and wet and the most strangely erotic thing Ann had ever felt. Her breath caught when she saw Lister’s expression shift to pleasure, her dark eyes fluttering closed. 

”What should I do?” Ann whispered.

Lister opened her eyes again. Amusement and arousal mingled in her expression. Her lips parted as she breathed erratically. “You are, mm, doing just fine, Ann.”

Ann exhaled. When her fingers slid over Lister’s clit, a hard nub amongst the soft, wet folds, Ann saw Lister twitch with pleasure. She pressed harder against it and was rewarded with a groan from Lister. Lister settled on her elbows on the bed and her fingers came to twist Ann’s nipples.

”Oh god, Anne. That’s, ah, unfair.”

Lister’s laugh was tense and breathless. ”Keep your focus, Ann. Harder.”

Ann screwed her eyes shut, trying to focus on maintaining a steady press with her fingers. Lister’s hips were twisting, grinding herself against Ann’s hand, hot and slippery. Ann whined at the frustrating, wonderful torture Lister was inflicting on her nipples; she pressed her legs together but it was no help. 

”Anne, stop,” she panted, writhing restlessly. She opened her eyes. ”No, don’t stop. Oh god.”

”You are doing so well,” Lister growled. Her eyes were liquid with pleasure. She squeezed Ann’s breasts. ”You are so lovely when you squirm like that.”

Ann’s wrist ached but she didn’t care. She pressed harder still between Lister’s legs, panting from the tormented fire of her nipples as Lister continued to play with them. 

”Ah, Ann, just there,” Lister panted. She threw back her head in a moan that took Ann’s breath away. Ann felt Lister’s sex flutter against her fingers; Lister’s whole body tensed and twisted as she reached her peak.

Lister collapsed on top of her, chest heaving. Ann slid her hands in Lister’s hair and held her head against her shoulder. She could feel Lister’s rapid pulse against her chest. Ann felt dazed. She had done this, this wondrous thing, to another woman. To  _ this _ woman. 

”That was…” Ann trailed off, speechless.

”I agree,” Lister said, her voice rough. She turned and nosed Ann’s nipple. ”And you, wriggling and pleading under me. So hot.”

Ann trembled with renewed desire. Her breasts felt raw from Lister’s earlier torture. When Lister’s mouth came to suck on her sensitised nipple, she whimpered with pain and pleasure. 

”Ah! Anne!” she managed. ”Again?”

”Mmm. Yes,” Lister said. Her fingers skittered downwards on Ann’s abdomen. “And then again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah that was literally six pages of porn and nothing else. Sorry. Brevity and boobies cannot coexist in my brain, it seems.


	15. A Curious One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This woman, here, with her. 

It was a normal Monday morning at the Met CID but when Ann sat down at her desk, she felt anything but normal. Uncomfortable, she shifted in her chair. Her groin felt swollen and tender against the hard chair but it was also a decadent, delicious reminder of the previous night. 

Ann fled that thought to the office kitchen.

As she waited for the kettle to boil, Ann looked at her warped reflection in the kitchen window that gave out to the Embankment. Her world was tilted off its axis. She was not the same Ann now. It was a frightening, exhilarating feeling. The previous night had been… 

Ann sighed.  _ What are you feeling, Ann? Put it to words. _

Ann glanced around. The kitchen was deserted. “Unexpected. Unbelievable,” she confessed in a whisper. “Fucking amazing.”

Previously, Ann had imagined sex with a woman to be a gentle affair, soft touches and velvet kisses. Last night had been none of that. Her own need had been an all-consuming fire in her, overriding all her sense of inadequacy, inexperience, and modesty. And Lister was not a gentle lover. She had been assertive and savage, taking all that she wanted of Ann’s body with skill that had left Ann senseless and screaming with nameless needs. 

Ann sighed. She had felt so acutely wanted, an object of raw desire. It had been thrilling. And then, when she had finally been spent and empty and sobbing with the overwhelming emotions of it all, Lister had held her close, stroking her hair until she calmed down. She had fallen asleep in Lister’s arms and slept dreamlessly through the night. 

Ann poured her tea and took it back to the squad room. She looked around the room with new eyes, seeing familiar things as if for the first time. But it was not new, she was.

Sam came in with a cup of tea and winked at her. “Good morning, love. You’re looking smart today.”

Ann glance down at herself. She was wearing the same skirt and eggshell blouse as the day before, but it was not like they had been on her all that long. Her knickers had been ruined, however, and she’d loaned a pair of Lister’s boy shorts. It felt risqué to be wearing underwear that was not hers, and she blushed at the thought. 

“New spring wardrobe. How was your weekend?”

“Exhausting,” Sam said and yawned as he sat down. “Alice is loving figure skating, so that’s good. How about you? How was your hot date?”

Ann opened her mouth but then her phone dinged.

_ \--- 09:20 [Anne Lister] I’ll bring lunch @ 13 _

_ \--- 09:20 [Anne Lister] Text me if you’re busy _

Ann bit her lower lip but couldn’t suppress her smile. “It was bloody brilliant.”

Sam’s phone dinged next and he glanced at it. He stood up and gulped the rest of his tea. “You can tell me all about it in the car. We have a serious assault at Victoria. Uniforms are at the scene.” 

Ann stood and smoothed down her wrinkled skirt. “I’ll call us a pool car. You drive.”

Sam shrugged on his coat. “With those shoes you have? I’m definitely driving.”

* * *

The afternoon was unusually warm for April and Ann stood on the front steps of the Met for a moment, soaking in the warmth. She met Lister by the river across the street on Victoria Embankment. It was busy with both tourists and locals taking full advantage of the rare lunchtime weather.

Lister’s kiss made Ann tingle all over. She slid her hands inside Lister’s jacket, fingers mapping the groove of Lister’s spine through her shirt. Since this was near Whitehall, Ann was dimly aware that they were seen by several CCTV cameras and possibly some colleagues of her exiting the New Scotland Yard building, but she didn’t care much. 

“I’m at St Thomas’ this afternoon for meetings,” Lister said and nodded across the river at the hospital complex there. “And there’s a great sandwich place nearby. You seemed the mozzarella and tomato type.”

“Sounds fantastic. Whitehall Gardens?”

They meandered to the gardens next door and sat down on a sun-warmed marble bench. Ann looked at Lister, trying very hard not to grin. Lister’s hair was up in a ponytail and she looked exquisite in her severe dark grey suit. Ann felt like pinching herself. This woman, here, with her. 

Lister dug into the white paper bag she’d brought and came up with sandwiches. “Here you go.”

The sandwich was superb. As she ate, Ann leaned her shoulder against Lister’s and gazed lazily at the flower arrangements in the gardens. 

“So what’s in the cards for you today?”

“A mugged tourist and paperwork. Many cups of builder’s brew,” Ann said. “You?”

“Haematology. Much less exciting.”

“Well, it’s blood. That’s exciting.”

“Slides, not scalpels,” Lister said. Her smile was amused and fiendish. “Alas.”

Ann crumpled her napkin and tossed it back into the bag. “That was really good. Thank you.”

Lister leaned in to kiss her and Ann didn’t care that they scandalised a few passing civil servants while at it. When they broke apart, Lister ran her thumb along Ann’s lower lip. Ann’s lips parted on their own volition at the touch. 

“Mmm. It was a good excuse to see you. You are so lovely.”

“Are you busy tonight?” Ann asked, a bit breathless. “I’d love to see you for more than a lunch. If you can.”

Lister took Ann’s hand and placed it on her thigh. The dark wool felt warm; Lister’s leg underneath was hard, smooth muscle. “Of course I can. And I want to. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, you have a busy calendar. A lot of friends,” Ann said and bit her lip. She remembered the way Lawton had touched Lister’s cheek in the parking lot. “Uh. More than friends.” 

Lister turned to look at her ruefully. “Well, you got me there.” Lister took both of Ann’s hand into hers. “I like you, Ann. A lot. I don’t take this lightly, you and me. Unless you want it to be casual.”

“No,” Ann said, a bit loudly. “No. I don’t… well. I’m obviously not the one night stand type.” 

“Didn’t take you for one. And me neither.”

Ann touched Lister’s cheek. “That’s good. I can’t wait to see you tonight.”

“Do you want to go out to dinner? There’s also a great art gallery near my place.”

“I was rather hoping you’d tell me about the art in your flat. We didn’t get around to it last night.” Ann paused and ran her fingertips down along Lister’s neck. “And then you could take these clothes off me once more and, well.”

“Rigorously ravish you on the settee?”

Ann felt a blush creeping on her cheeks again. “Something like that, yes.”

“Aren’t you the enthusiast now, miss I’ve-never-done-this.”

Ann laughed and poked Lister’s arm. “Your goddamn fault.”

Lister pulled her close. ”Guilty as charged, Detective Constable Walker,” she murmured against Ann’s lips and then kissed her thoroughly.

* * *

_Fin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of your lovely comments! This was aggravating and fun to write, and it did take a bit of a niche detour there... 
> 
> <3


End file.
